I fly because it releases my mind
from the tyranny of petty things.
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I know but one freedom,
and that is the freedom of the mind.-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I love Antoine de Saint-Exupery.
Cassidy and I are currently reading The Little Prince
And I’m sure that, to some extent, she can hear the caress in my voice.
I love this story. It is so simple and pure and true and universal; it is the sort of story that makes me want to curl up into a ball and give up on the idea of writing, anything, ever.
I first read this book in French and still the words had the power to move me.
I’ve never read any other of his writings, although Wind, Sand and Stars
I do have quotes of his scrawled all over my notebooks, discovered here and there and noted for later. Taken together, they are a powerful force.
“We say nothing essential about the cathedral when we speak of its stones.
We say nothing essential about Man when we seek to define him by the qualities of men. “
“Tell me who admires and loves you, and I will tell you who you are.”
“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
“Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.”
“How could there be any question of acquiring or possessing, when the one thing needful for a man is to become – to be at last, and to die in the fullness of his being.”
“A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us.
To live is to be slowly born.”
I bring this up because I have been mulling over the question, “What would you do if you could not fail?” It is not an easy thing to answer precisely. Write, yes, of course; but what, and why?
I think for me the answer is this: I would teach my words to fly.
What does that mean, exactly? I’m not sure yet. But it is a beginning.
What would you do if you could not fail?
My immediate thought was also to write. But then I stopped and gave a few moments to the question. I actually think I might paint; the whole process from the idea, to sketches beforehand, to putting the brush to canvas, intrigues me. In an abstract way, perhaps writing is a form of painting, getting the idea on paper.