It Is Always In The Midst, In

He Who Would Travel Happy Must Travel Lite.

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.

I Am Who I Am And I Have The Need To Be.

Truth, For Any Man, Is That Which Makes Him A Man.

Commonly, People Believe That Defeat Is Characterized By A General Bustle And A Feverish Rush. Bustle And Rush Are The Signs Of Victory, Not Of Defeat. Victory Is A Thing Of Action. It Is A House In The Act Of Being Built. Every Participant In Victory Sweats And Puffs, Carrying The Stones For The Building Of The House. But Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of Incoherence, Of Boredom. And Above All Of Futility.