You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.
People where you live," the little prince said, "grow five thousand roses in one garden... yet they don't find what they're looking for... They don't find it," I answered. And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose, or a little water..." Of course," I answered. And the little prince added, "But eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart.
When one wishes to play the wit, he sometimes wander a little from the truth.
She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her.
On ne sait jamais! One never knows!
Even though human life may be the most precious thing on earth, we always behave as if there were something of higher value than human life.
We say nothing essential about the cathedral when we speak of its stones. We say nothing essential about Man when we seek to define him by the qualities of men.
Transport of the mails, transport of the human voice, transport of flickering pictures-in this century as in others our highest accomplishments still have the single aim of bringing men together.
When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed. Man is a knot, a web, a mesh into which relationships are tied. Only those relationships matter. The body is an old crock that nobody will miss. I have never known a man to think of himself when dying. Never.
To be a man is to feel that one's own stone contributes to building the edifice of the world.
Peace is present when things form part of a whole greater than their sum, as the diverse minerals in the ground collect to become the tree.
No individual is isolated. He who is sad, saddens others.
No destiny attacks us from outside. But, within him, man bears his fate and there comes a moment when he knows himself vulnerable; and then, as in a vertigo, blunder upon blunder lures him.
I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower... I think that she has tamed me.
He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound.
What value has compassion that does not take its object in its arms?
If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.
Loneliness is bred of a mind that has grown earth-bound.
Defeat may prove to have been the only path to resurrection, despite its ugliness.
He had taken seriously words which were without importance, and it made him very unhappy.
One is a member of a country, a profession, a civilization, a religion. One is not just a man.
All of us have had the experience of a sudden joy that came when nothing in the world had forewarned us of its coming - a joy so thrilling that if it was born of misery we remembered even the misery with tenderness.
True love is visible not to the eyes but to the heart, for eyes may be deceived.
Man's progress is but a gradual discovery that his questions have no meaning.
More wisdom is latent in things as they are than in all the words men use.
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