“Go again and look at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”
And the roses were very much embarrassed.
“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passer-by would think that my rose looked just like you – the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have out under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”
And he went back to meet the fox.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now, here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the naked eye.”
“What is essential is invisible to the naked eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”
“It is the time I have wasted for my rose-“ said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose…”
“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
excerpt from "The Little Prince" by antoine de saint-exupery
i read the book because i couldn't think of any other book to assign to my class of 10-13 year olds. and in a way, i am glad i read it.
you see, whenever i start to move on, i get confused and find myself at that point where i started. and i do this over and over. i guess, i'll always go back. and now i have an answer. and it is most intelligent and rational, this answer.
but, maybe, i never did leave. maybe it was everything else that started to move, only to return to their places. maybe, this is my proper place. true love - the soul meets its counterpoint in another. and maybe, just maybe, this is true. and maybe i find it so comfortable that i cling to that thin string that binds. and it chokes. but on the contrary, i thrive.
i find comfort from the excerpt. maybe this is normal. and maybe, i am, too.