Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger, comte de Saint-Exupéry (29 June 1900 – 31 July 1944) was a French writer, poet, aristocrat, journalist, and pioneering aviator. He became a laureate of several of France's highest literary awards and also won the U.S. National Book Award. He is best remembered for his novella The Little Prince and for his lyrical aviation writings, including Wind, Sand and Stars and Night Flight.

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It is such a secret place the land of tears.

One can be a brother only in something. Where there is no tie that binds men men are not united but merely lined up.

Only he can understand what a farm is what a country is who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country fought to save it struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.

The time for action is now. It's never too late to do something.

You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.

The meaning of things lies not in the things themselves but in our attitude towards them.

If you want to build a ship don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.

True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done the zest of creating things new.

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

Of what worth are convictions that bring not suffering?

Tell me who admires and loves you and I will tell you who you are.

Life has meaning only if one barters it day by day for something other than itself.

Transport of the mails transport of the human voice transport of flickering pictures-in this century as in others our highest accomplishments still have the single aim of bringing men together.

When you give yourself you receive more than you give.

I know but one freedom and that is the freedom of the mind.

Night the beloved. Night when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

For true love is inexhaustible, the more you give the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead the more water you draw the more abundant is its flow.

The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them.

The one thing that matters is the effort.

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.

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