It Is Not For Us To Forecast

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.

It Is Not A Question Of Living Dangerously. That Formula Is Too Arrogant, Too Presumptuous. I Don't Care Much For Bull-fighters. It's Not The Danger I Love. I Know What I Love. It Is Life Itself.

It Is Much More Difficult To Judge Oneself Than To Judge Others.

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

When The Body Sinks Into Death, The Essence Of Man Is Revealed. Man Is A Knot, A Web, A Mesh Into Which Relationships Are Tied. Only Those Relationships Matter. The Body Is An Old Crock That Nobody Will Miss. I Have Never Known A Man To Think Of Himself When Dying. Never.