Grown Ups Are Certainly Very Strange.

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.

The Job Has Its Grandeurs, Yes. There Is The Exultation Of Arriving Safely After A Storm, The Joy Of Gliding Down Out Of The Darkness Of Night Or Tempest Toward A Sun-drenched Alicante Or Santiago; There Is The Swelling Sense Of Returning To Repossess One's Place In Life, In The Miraculous Garden Of Earth, Where Are Trees And Women And, Down By The Harbor, Friendly Little Bars. When He Has Throttled His Engine And Is Banking Into The Airport, Leaving The Somber Cloud Masses Behind, What Pilot Does Not Break Into Song?

The Wind In The Grain Is The Caress To The Spouse; It Is The Hand Of Peace Stroking Her Hair.

And The Little Prince Broke Into A Lovely Peal Of Laughter, Which Irritated Me Very Much. I Like My Misfortunes To Be Taken Seriously.

I Know But One Freedom And That Is The Freedom Of The Mind.