If France Is To Be Judged, Judge

Look At The Sky. Ask Yourselves: Has The Sheep Eaten The Flower, Yes Or No? And You Will See How Everything Changes.

How Is It Possible For One To Own The Stars?" "to Whom Do They Belong?" The Businessman Retorted, Peevishly. "i Don't Know. To Nobody.

The Flower You Single Out Is A Rejection Of All Other Flowers; Nevertheless, Only On These Terms Is It Beautiful.

Sitting In The Flickering Light Of The Candles On This Kerchief Of Sand, On This Village Square, We Waited In The Night. We Were Waiting For The Rescuing Dawn - Or For The Moors. Something, I Know Not What, Lent This Night A Savor Of Christmas. We Told Stories, We Joked, We Sang Songs. In The Air There Was That Slight Fever That Reigns Over A Gaily Prepared Feast. And Yet We Were Infinitely Poor. Wind, Sand, And Stars. The Austerity Of Trappists. But On This Badly Lighted Cloth, A Handful Of Men Who Possessed Nothing In The World But Their Memories Were Sharing Invisible Riches.

Each Man Carries Within Him The Soul Of A Poet Who Died Young.