He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

What makes the desert beautiful,' said the little prince, 'is that somewhere it hides a well...

What is going on inside me I cannot tell. In the sky a thousand stars are magnetized, and I lie glued by the swing of the planet to the sand. A different weight brings me back to myself. I feel the weight of my body drawing me towards so many things. My dreams are more real than these dunes, than that moon, than these presences. My civilization is an empire more imperious than this empire. The marvel of a house is not that it shelters or warms a man, nor that its walls belong to him. It is that it leaves its trace on the language. Let it remain a sign. Let it form, deep in the heart, that obscure range from which, as waters from a spring, are born our dreams.

It's much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge others.