But certainly any for us who understand life figures are a matter of indifference.
I should have liked to begin this story in the fashion of the fairy-tales. I should have like to say: Once upon a time there was a little prince who lived on a planet that was scarcely any bigger than himself and who had need of a sheep..." To those who understand life that would have given a much greater air of truth to my story. For I do not want any one to read my book carelessly. I have suffered too much grief in setting down these memories. Six years have already passed since my friend went away from me with his sheep. If I try to describe him here it is to make sure that I shall not forget him. To forget a friend is sad. Not every one has had a friend. And if I forget him I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures...
It is for that purpose again that I have bought a box of paints and some pencils. It is hard to take up drawing again at my age when I have never made any pictures except those of the boa constrictor from the outside and the boa constrictor from the inside since I was six. I shall certainly try to make my portraits as true to life as possible. But I am not at all sure of success. One drawing goes along all right and another has no resemblance to its subject.
in the little prince's height: in one place he is too tall and in another too short. And I feel so me doubts about the color of his costume. So I fumble along as best I can now good now bad and I hope generally fair-to-middling.