I ask the children who may read this book to forgive me for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious excuse. This grown-up is the best friend I have in the world.

I have another excuse. This grown-up understands everything, even books for children.

I have a third excuse. He lives in France, where he is hungry and cold. He needs to be cheered up.

If all these excuses are not enough, then I will dedicate the book to the child he once was. All grown-ups were children first. But only a few of them remember it.

So I correct my dedication.

To Léon Werth, when he was a little boy.

And this, at the very end, is the landscape where all of it happened. It is, for me, the loveliest and the saddest landscape in the world. It is the same as the one on the page before, but I have drawn it again, to be sure you see it. It is here that the little prince appeared on Earth, and then disappeared.

Look at it carefully, so that you will be sure to recognize it — in case you travel, one day, to the African desert. And if you should come upon this spot, please do not hurry on. Wait, for a little while, under the star.

And if a little boy with golden hair comes to you, who laughs, who will not answer your questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen, please be kind. Send me word that he has come back.

All grown-ups were once children — but only few of them remember it.