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In the final stages of the German invasion of France in 1940, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is sent out on a reconnaissance mission over occupied territory. It's almost certain suicide, and the information he might bring back will be of no use to anyone: the war is lost, nothing works anymore. But he accepts unhesitatingly. Somewhere over Arras, with anti-aircraft fire bracketing him on all sides, aware that he is probably a few seconds from death, he has a mystical insight. He is no longer afraid, he has done the right thing. By willingly offering his life, he is truly part of his little band of aviators, of the French military, of his country, of mankind. He knows with complete certainty that he could not have learned this lesson in any other way. Miraculously, he returns unscathed to base. He has been granted a couple more years to write this book and the much more famous Le petit prince. And he is, indeed, immortal. As long as our civilization endures, people will read him.
I wonder if there are people in Mariupol right now having similar experiences.
I wonder if there are people in Mariupol right now having similar experiences.