Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger, comte de Saint-Exupérywas 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 Princeand for his lyrical aviation writings, including Wind, Sand and Stars and Night Flight...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth29 June 1900
CityLyon, France
CountryFrance
It is the missed opportunity that counts, and in a love that vainly yearns from behind prison bars you have perchance the love supreme.
When we think that the machine will harm man, then it is perhaps because we are not yet capable of judging the rapid changes it has brought about. We hardly feel at home in this landscape of mines and power stations. We have just moved into this new home that we have not even finished yet. Everything around us has changed so fast - personal relations, working conditions, habits. Even our state of mind is in turmoil.
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.
Nothing can match the treasure of common memories ...
You cannot plant an acorn in the morning, and expect that afternoon to sit in the shade of an oak.
When faith burns itself out, 'tis God who dies and thenceforth proves unavailing.
How desperately difficult it is to be honest with oneself. It is much easier to be honest with other people.What is true is invisible to the eye. It is only with the heart that one can see clearly.
A civilization is built on what is required of men, not on that which is provided for them.
To become a man is to be responsible; to be ashamed of miseries that you did not cause.
Man's progress is but a gradual discovery that his questions have no meaning.
Truth, for any man, is that which makes him a man.
At one time I say to myself: "Surely not! The little prince shuts his flower under her glass globe every night, and he watches over his sheep very carefully . . ." Then I am happy. And there is sweetness in the laughter of all the stars.
Defeat is a thing of weariness, of incoherence, of boredom, and above all futility.
One man may hit the mark, another blunder; but heed not these distinctions. Only from the alliance of the one, working with and through the other, are great things born.