I DIDN'T WRITE THIS. but i typed the whole thing out by hand.

      ‘Men,’ said the fox. ‘They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?’

      ‘No,’ said the little prince. ‘I am looking for friends. What does that mean—‘tame’?’

      ‘It is an act too often neglected,’ said the fox. ‘It means to establish ties.’

      ‘To establish ties?’

      ‘Just that,’ said the fox. ‘To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…’

      ‘I am beginning to understand,’ said the little prince. ‘There is a flower… I think that she has tamed me…’

      ‘It is possible,’ said the fox. ‘On the earth, one sees all sorts of things.’

      …’My life is very monotonous,’ the fox said. ‘I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…”

      The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

      ‘Please—tame me!’ he said.

      …So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—

      ‘Ah,’ said the fox, ‘I shall cry.’

      ‘It is your own fault,’ said the little prince. ‘I never wished you any sort of harm, but you wanted me to tame you…’

      ‘Yes, that is so,’ said the fox.

      ‘But now you are going to cry!’ said the little prince.

      ‘Yes, that is so,’ said the fox.

      ‘Then it has done you no good at all!’

      ‘It has done me good,’ said the fox, ‘because of the color of the wheat fields.’

                                                      —Antoine de Saint Exupéry