Nobody grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time. Now the clay of which you were shaped has dried and hardened, and naught in you will ever awaken the sleeping musician, the poet, the asronomer that possibly inhabited you in the beginning.
"'Terre des Hommes' ('Wind, Sand and Stars')". Book by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, translated by Lewis Galantière. Chapter I: "The Craft", 1939.
