A Man Has Many Parts, He Is

When One Is Building A Ship, One Does Not Begin With Gathering Timber And Cutting Planks, But Rather By Arousing In People The Yearning For The Great Wide Sea.

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?

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.

But If You Come At Just Any Time, I Shall Never Know At What Hour My Heart Is To Be Ready To Greet You.

The Meaning Of Things Lies Not In The Things Themselves, But In Our Attitude Towards Them In Particular Caused By What We Compare It To: Something Worse And We Feel Grateful For What We Have; Something Better And We Feel Somehow Let Down.