I Saw The Sunset Forty-four Times!

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.

You Become Responsible, Forever, For What You Have Tamed.

Only The Children Know What They Are Looking For. 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.

Good Taste" Is A Virtue Of The Keepers Of Museums. If You Scorn Bad Taste, You Will Have Neither Painting Nor Dancing, Neither Palaces Nor Gardens.

So The Little Prince Tamed The Fox. And When The Hour Of His Departure Drew Near-- Ah," Said The Fox, "i Shall Cry." It Is Your Own Fault," Said The Little Prince. "i Never Wished You Any Sort Of Harm; But You Wanted Me To Tame You . . ." Yes, That Is So," Said The Fox. But Now You Are Going To Cry!" Said The Little Prince. Yes, That Is So," Said The Fox. Then It Has Done You No Good At All!" It Has Done Me Good," Said The Fox, "because Of The Color Of The Wheat Fields.