The Death of the Heart, Elizabeth Bowen

Innocence so constantly finds itself in a false position that inwards innocence people learn to be disingenuous. Finding no language in which to speak in their own terms, they resign themselves to being translated imperfectly. They exist alone; when they try to enter into relationships they compromise falsifyingly ñ through anxiety, through desire to impart and to feel warmth. The system of our affections is too corrupt for them. They are bound to blunder, then to be told they cheat. In love, the sweetness and violence they have to offer involves a thousand betrayals for the less innocent. Incurable strangers to the world, they never cease to exact a heroic happiness. They singleness, their ruthlessness, their one continuous wish makes them bound to be cruel, and to suffer cruelty. The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet ñ when they do meet, their victims are strewn all around.
Posted by supersusie at January 24, 2004 11:20 AM