(no subject)
I just read The Little Prince and for a children's book it is packed to the rim with philosophical gems.
Much like an earlier entry I wrote, it holds the heart as the most important organ: "Here is my secret. It's quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."
Wise words to feed children, in my opinion. The whole novel is beautiful and I recommend it to everyone (and it is a quick read for those who do not like to invest too much time in books).
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world." And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you, the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose."
Much like an earlier entry I wrote, it holds the heart as the most important organ: "Here is my secret. It's quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."
Wise words to feed children, in my opinion. The whole novel is beautiful and I recommend it to everyone (and it is a quick read for those who do not like to invest too much time in books).
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world." And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you, the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose."