The field of consciousness is tiny. It accepts only one problem at a time.

The seed haunted by the sun never fails to find its way between the stones in the ground. And the pure logician, if no sun draws him forth, remains entangled in his logic.

Once men are caught up in an event, they cease to be afraid. Only the unknown frightens men.

Perfection is attained, not when no more can be added, but when no more can be removed.

I remembered the fox. One runs the risk of crying a bit if one allows oneself to be tamed.

You know... when you are sad you love the sunsets.

How is it possible for one to own the stars?" "To whom do they belong?" the businessman retorted, peevishly. "I don't know. To nobody.