Antoine de Saint-Exupery Quotes

We are all born and someday we'll all die. Most likely to some degree alone. Our aloneness in this world is, maybe not anymore, a thing to mourn.

Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.

Separate we come, and separate we go, And this be it known, is all that we know.

Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.

Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.

Everyone I used to play with has either given up or is dead.

We enter the world alone, we leave the world alone.

Of my friends I am the only one left.

If you realize that all things change, there is nothing you will try to hold on to. If you are not afraid of dying, there is nothing you cannot achieve.

I think about dying. I've come to realize we all die alone in one way or another.

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

You come into the world alone and you go out of the world alone yet it seems to me you are more alone while living than even going and coming.

To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.

There's no greater misfortune than dying alone.

We are born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Everything in-between is a gift.

"It is a sensation not experienced by many mortals," said he, "to be looking into a churchyard on a wild windy night, and to feel that I no more hold a place among the living than these dead do, and even to know that I lie buried somewhere else, as they lie buried here. Nothing uses me to it. A spirit that was once a man could hardly feel stranger or lonelier, going unrecognized among mankind, than I feel."

We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

You can't avoid orphan stories, child. Every story is an orphan story. We are all orphaned sooner or later.

And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?

But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them.

But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it's death. Anything. Something. Nothing.