Antoine de Saint-Exupery Quotes About Love
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Only he can understand what a farm is, what a country is, who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country, fought to save it, struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.
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It is the missed opportunity that counts, and in a love that vainly yearns from behind prison bars you have perchance the love supreme.
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Love does not cause suffering: what causes it is the sense of ownership, which is love's opposite.
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* if someone loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows, in all the millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars.
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Tell me who admires and loves you, and I will tell you who you are.
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What was my body to me? A kind of flunkey in my service. Let but my anger wax hot, my love grow exalted, my hatred collect in me, and that boasted solidarity between me and my body was gone.
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Whoever loves above all the approach of love will never know the joy of attaining it.
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To love is not to look at one another: it is to look, together, in the same direction.
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Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.
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For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.
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It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.
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True love begins when nothing is looked for in return.
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And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.
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The arms of love encompass you with your present, your past, your future, the arms of love gather you together.
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You see, one loves the sunset when one is so sad.
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On a day of burial there is no perspective--for space itself is annihilated. Your dead friend is still a fragmentary being. The day you bury him is a day of chores and crowds, of hands false or true to be shaken, of the immediate cares of mourning. The dead friend will not really die until tomorrow, when silence is round you again. Then he will show himself complete, as he was--to tear himself away, as he was, from the substantial you. Only then will you cry out because of him who is leaving and whom you cannot detain.
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