I Remembered The Fox. One Runs The

Let Your Dream Devour Your Life, Not Your Life Devour Your Dream.

I Have Always Learned To Distinguish The Important From The Urgent.

And When Your Sorrow Is Comforted (time Soothes All Sorrows) You Will Be Content That You Have Known Me. You Will Always Be My Friend. You Will Want To Laugh With Me. And You Will Sometimes Open Your Window, So, For That Pleasure . . . And Your Friends Will Be Properly Astonished To See You Laughing As You Look Up At The Sky! Then You Will Say To Them, 'yes, The Stars Always Make Me Laugh!' And They Will Think You Are Crazy. It Will Be A Very Shabby Trick That I Shall Have Played On You.

For I Do Not Want Any One To Read My Book Carelessly. I Have Suffered Too Much Grief In Setting Down These Memories. Six Years Have Already Passed Since My Friend Went Away From Me, With His Sheep. If I Try To Describe Him Here, It Is To Make Sure That I Shall Not Forget Him. To Forget A Friend Is Sad. Not Every One Has Had A Friend. And If I Forget Him, I May Become Like The Grown-ups Who Are No Longer Interested In Anything But Figures.

Nothing Can Match The Treasure Of Common Memories, Of Trials Endured Together, Of Quarrels And Reconciliations And Generous Emotions. It Is Idle, Having Planted An Acorn In The Morning, To Expect That Afternoon To Sit In The Shade Of The Oak.