Night, When Words Fade And Things Come

Of Course I’ll Hurt You. Of Course You’ll Hurt Me. Of Course We Will Hurt Each Other. But This Is The Very Condition Of Existence. To Become Spring, Means Accepting The Risk Of Winter. To Become Presence, Means Accepting The Risk Of Absence.

I Don't Understand These People Anymore, That Travel The Commuter-trains To Their Dormitory Towns. These People That Call Themselves Human, But, By A Pressure They Do Not Feel, Are Forced To Do Their Work Like Ants. With What Do They Fill Their Time When They Are Free Of Work On Their Silly Little Sundays? I Am Very Fortunate In My Profession. I Feel Like A Farmer, With The Airstrips As My Fields. Those That Have Once Tasted This Kind Of Fare Will Not Forget It Ever. Not So, My Friends?

You'll Be Bothered From Time To Time By Storms, Fog, Snow. When You Are, Think Of Those Who Went Through It Before You, And Say To Yourself, 'what They Could Do, I Can Do.'

A Man's Age Is Something Impressive, It Sums Up His Life: Maturity Reached Slowly And Against Many Obstacles, Illnesses Cured, Griefs And Despairs Overcome, And Unconscious Risks Taken; Maturity Formed Through So Many Desires, Hopes, Regrets, Forgotten Things, Loves. A Man's Age Represents A Fine Cargo Of Experience And Memories.

And They Heard The Roaring Thunder Of A Third Brilliantly Lighted Express. "are They Pursuing The First Travelers?" Demanded The Little Prince. "they Are Pursuing Nothing At All," Said The Switchman. "they Are Asleep In There, Or If They Are Not Asleep They Are Yawning. Only The Children Are Flattening Their Noses Against The Windowpanes." "only The Children Know What They Are Looking For," Said The Little Prince. "they Waste Their Time Over A Rag Doll And It Becomes Very Important To Them; And If Anybody Takes It Away From Them, They Cry..." "they Are Lucky," The Switchman Said.