Defeat May Prove To Have Been The

At One Time I Say To Myself: "surely Not! The Little Prince Shuts His Flower Under Her Glass Globe Every Night, And He Watches Over His Sheep Very Carefully . . ." Then I Am Happy. And There Is Sweetness In The Laughter Of All The Stars.

A Civilization Is A Heritage Of Beliefs, Customs, And Knowledge Slowly Accumulated In The Course Of Centuries, Elements Difficult At Times To Justify By Logic, But Justifying Themselves As Paths When They Lead Somewhere, Since They Open Up For Man His Inner Distance.

You Give Birth To That On Which You Fix Your Mind

On A Day Of Burial There Is No Perspective--for Space Itself Is Annihilated. Your Dead Friend Is Still A Fragmentary Being. The Day You Bury Him Is A Day Of Chores And Crowds, Of Hands False Or True To Be Shaken, Of The Immediate Cares Of Mourning. The Dead Friend Will Not Really Die Until Tomorrow, When Silence Is Round You Again. Then He Will Show Himself Complete, As He Was--to Tear Himself Away, As He Was, From The Substantial You. Only Then Will You Cry Out Because Of Him Who Is Leaving And Whom You Cannot Detain.

Nothing Can Match The Treasure Of Common Memories.