And The Little Prince Broke

For I Do Not Want Any One To Read My Book Carelessly. I Have Suffered Too Much Grief In Setting Down These Memories. Six Years Have Already Passed Since My Friend Went Away From Me, With His Sheep. If I Try To Describe Him Here, It Is To Make Sure That I Shall Not Forget Him. To Forget A Friend Is Sad. Not Every One Has Had A Friend. And If I Forget Him, I May Become Like The Grown-ups Who Are No Longer Interested In Anything But Figures.

It Is The Missed Opportunity That Counts, And In A Love That Vainly Yearns From Behind Prison Bars You Have Perchance The Love Supreme.

Commonly, People Believe That Defeat Is Characterized By A General Bustle And A Feverish Rush. Bustle And Rush Are The Signs Of Victory, Not Of Defeat. Victory Is A Thing Of Action. It Is A House In The Act Of Being Built. Every Participant In Victory Sweats And Puffs, Carrying The Stones For The Building Of The House. But Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of Incoherence, Of Boredom. And Above All Of Futility.

How Could Drops Of Water Know Themselves To Be A River? Yet The River Flows On.

When Someone Blushes, Doesn't That Mean 'yes'?