When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments;

Hear the words of Louis Pasteur, healer of nations and father of modern science: “When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments; tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become.” These words, simple and gentle, conceal within them a truth of immense power. They remind us that in every child rests both the fragility of the present and the vast potential of the future. To behold a child is to stand before both innocence and possibility, before the unshaped clay of today and the masterpiece of tomorrow.

The ancients, too, revered this mystery. In the teachings of the sages, children were seen not as possessions, but as sacred trusts. The Hebrew psalmist proclaimed, “Children are a heritage from the Lord.” The philosophers of Greece saw in them the raw material of the polis, citizens yet unborn in spirit. And Christ himself placed a child in the midst of his disciples, declaring that to enter the kingdom of heaven, one must become as one of these. Pasteur’s words are the echo of this eternal vision: to look upon a child is to feel tenderness for his innocence and respect for the destiny that lies hidden within him.

Consider Pasteur’s own life. Born the son of a poor tanner, he was no child of privilege. Yet someone must have looked at him not with disdain for what he lacked, but with respect for what he might one day become. From such beginnings, he rose to change the course of medicine, conquering disease with discoveries that saved millions. His words are thus not abstract—they are lived truth. He knew from his own journey that today’s fragile child may be tomorrow’s savior, tomorrow’s leader, tomorrow’s light in a darkened world.

History abounds with such stories. The boy Abraham Lincoln grew up in a log cabin, clad in rags, mocked for his poverty. Yet those who looked on him with tenderness and gave him the chance to learn unknowingly nurtured a president who would preserve a nation. The young Florence Nightingale, wandering through gardens and imagining herself called to serve, became the mother of modern nursing. These examples reveal the depth of Pasteur’s insight: to treat the child only as he is today is to see but half the truth; to honor who he may become is to glimpse eternity unfolding.

The meaning of these words is both beautiful and urgent. To feel tenderness toward children is natural; their innocence stirs our compassion. But to also hold respect is rarer and nobler. It means treating children not as incomplete beings, but as seeds carrying greatness within them. It means guiding them with patience, not harshness; with encouragement, not neglect. It means that every act of love and care toward a child is an investment not only in their present joy but in the destiny they will one day fulfill.

The lesson is clear: let us approach every child with reverence. See in their laughter the joy of today, but also in their eyes the fire of tomorrow. Do not dismiss them as “too young to matter,” for kings, poets, healers, and prophets once toddled in weakness and learned their first stumbling words. Every child carries within them a future we cannot yet imagine. To honor this is to build a world where possibility is protected, nurtured, and cherished.

What then shall we do? Care for children with gentleness. Teach them with patience. Encourage their dreams, however small they may seem. Never crush the spark of curiosity or silence the voice of imagination. And above all, give them the respect of recognizing their potential, even when it lies hidden. In doing so, we become not only guardians of the present but stewards of the future.

Therefore, O listener, remember Pasteur’s words: “When I approach a child, I feel tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become.” Let this guide your dealings with the young, for in their fragile hands lies the strength of generations to come. To honor both their present and their future is to honor life itself.