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“ ”For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, without even realizing what he'd doing - that isn't important? If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's up there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important?
Antoine de Saint Exupéry (29 June 1900 – 31 July 1944) was a French writer, poet and aviator.
Biography information from Wikiquote
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And I knew that I could not bear the thought of never hearing that laughter any more. For me, it was like a spring of fresh water in the desert.
Ma fleur est éphémère, se dit le petit prince, et elle n'a que quatre épines pour se défendre contre le monde! Et je l'ai laissée toute seule chez moi!
For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. and if you go to draw at the rule fountainhea, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.