IL PICCOLO PRINCIPE – LE PETIT PRINCE – THE LITTLE PRINCE di Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (EDIZIONE TRILINGUE: italiano, inglese, francese)

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

• Editorial: Dario Abate Editore
• Año: 2015
• ISBN:
  9788899356194
• Categoría: Literatura
• Categoría: Clásicos

In ordine sparso: geniale, struggente, dolce, surreale, educativo, divertente, commovente, malinconico, leggero, sorprendente.
È un incontro tra piccoli e grandi per riflettere e imparare a capirsi, reciprocamente. Si può leggere a vari livelli e ogni volta riempie il cuore.
Ti viene voglia di abbracciarlo e stringerlo forte, il piccolo principe.
È come una magia: nella vita del piccolo principe si rivede la propria vita.
Fa crescere. Ma perché il Piccolo Principe è un racconto così vero e profondo?
In primis, perché è un racconto sul senso della vita.
Poi perché è autobiografico e frutto di un uomo che più volte ha fatto i conti con la vita e soprattutto con la morte. E solo confronti così drammatici possono dare vita a riflessioni così profonde.
Con quella sincerità che si può avere con se stessi solo di fronte alla morte. È così che il Piccolo Principe ha conquistato tutto il mondo, venendo tradotto in ogni lingua. Per questa sua capacità di parlare direttamente al cuore. Senza filtri.
Una favola che fa ridere i bambini e fa piangere ai grandi.
Ma riempie i cuori. Sempre e comunque. Questa edizione del Piccolo Principe, per una migliore fruizione, presenta l'opera in 3 lingue: italiano, inglese, francese (nella versione originale).
Il libro, inoltre, si completa con una serie di approfondimenti sulla vita e le opera dell'autore.

Chapter 1

 

Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book,

called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest.

It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal.

Here is a copy of the drawing.

 

 

In the book it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole,

without chewing it. After that they are not able to move,

and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."

I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle.

And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing.

My Drawing Number One.

It looked something like this:

 

 

I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups,

and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.

But they answered: "Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?"

My drawing was not a picture of a hat.

It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since

the grown-ups were not able to understand it,

I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa

constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly.

They always need to have things explained.

My Drawing Number Two looked like this:

 

 

The grown-ups' response, this time,

was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors,

whether from the inside or the outside,

and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar.

That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might

have been a magnificent career as a painter.

I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing

Number One and my Drawing Number Two.

Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves,

and it is tiresome for children to be always

and forever explaining things to them.

So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes.

I have flown a little over all parts of the world;

and it is true that geography has been very useful to me.

At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona.

If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.

In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters

with a great many people who have been

concerned with matters of consequence.

I have lived a great deal among grown-ups.

I have seen them intimately, close at hand.

And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.

Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted,

I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One,

which I have always kept. I would try to find out, so,

if this was a person of true understanding.

But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say:

"That is a hat."

Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors,

or primeval forests, or stars.

I would bring myself down to his level.

I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties.

And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.

 

Chapter 2

So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to,

until I had an accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago.

Something was broken in my engine. And as I had with me neither a

mechanic nor any passengers, I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone.

It was a question of life or death for me:

I had scarcely enough drinking water to last a week.

The first night, then, I went to sleep on the sand,

a thousand miles from any human habitation.

I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean.

Thus you can imagine my amazement, at sunrise,

when I was awakened by an odd little voice.

It said:

"If you please, draw me a sheep!"

"What!"

"Draw me a sheep!"

I jumped to my feet, completely thunderstruck.

I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully all around me.

And I saw a most extraordinary small person,

who stood there examining me with great seriousness.

Here you may see the best portrait that, later, I was able to make of him.

But my drawing is certainly very much less charming than its model.

That, however, is not my fault.

The grown-ups discouraged me in my painter's career when I was six years

old, and I never learned to draw anything,

except boas from the outside and boas from the inside.

Now I stared at this sudden a...