All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it.

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

Of what worth are convictions that bring not suffering?

When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey.

I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower... I think that she has tamed me.

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.

It is as a soldier that you make love and as a lover that you make war.