A Common Rose

It happened that after walking for a long time through sand, rocks and snow, the little prince at last came upon a road. And all roads lead to the abodes of men. “Good morning,” he said. He was standing before a garden, all blooming with roses. “Good morning,” said the roses. The little prince gazed at them. They all looked like his flowers. “Who are you?” he demanded. “We are roses,” answered the roses. And he was overcome with sadness. His flowers had told him that she was the only one of her kind in the universe. And here were five thousand of them, all alike, in one single garden! “She would be very much annoyed,” he said to himself, “If she should see that, she would cough most dreadfully, and she would pretend that she was dying, to avoid being laughed at. And I should be obliged to pretend that I was nursing her back to life — for if I didn’t do that, to humble myself, she would really allow herself to die.” Then he went on with his reflections, “I thought that I was rich, with a flower that was unique in the world; and all I had was a common rose. A common rose, and three volcanoes that come up to my knees — and one of them perhaps extinct forever. That doesn’t make me a very great prince.” And he lay down in the grass and cried.