Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the significance of night as a time for reflection, healing, and reconnection with one's true self.
In this poignant reflection by Antoine De Saint-Exupery, the night is portrayed as a cherished time when the chaos of the day subsides, allowing individuals to turn inward and reconnect with their essence. It suggests that the stillness of night facilitates a kind of restoration and growth that is often disrupted by the busy analysis of daily life, indicating that there is a deeper truth and peace to be found in moments of quiet contemplation and solitude.
In practice
This quote could be shared in a meditation class to emphasize the importance of quiet moments.
Grown-ups love figures... When you tell them you've made a new friend they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you "What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies? " Instead they demand "How old is he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make? " Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.
Attitude is a paintbrush. It colors everything!
Water, thou hast no taste, no color, no odor; canst not be defined, art relished while ever mysterious. Not necessary to life, but rather life itself, thou fillest us with a gratification that exceeds the delight of the senses.
In those days, I didn't understand anything. I should have judged her according to her actions, not her words. She perfumed my planet and lit up my life. I should never have run away! I ought to have realized the tenderness underlying her silly pretensions. Flowers are so contadictory! But I was too young to know how to love her.
When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey.
When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed. Man is a knot, a web, a mesh into which relationships are tied. Only those relationships matter. The body is an old crock that nobody will miss. I have never known a man to think of himself when dying. Never.
Pollution is everywhere, in that ancient Greek sense of miasma: guilt experienced as abject body fluid, moral pollution defining what kinds of beings count in social space.
If you try to create a type, you may end with nothing. If you do a good job of creating an individual, you may succeed at creating a type.
Human affairs are so obscure and various that nothing can be clearly known.
Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.
Life is rather a state of embryo, a preparation for life; a man is not completely born till he has passed through death.
If merely 'feeling good' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience.
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