“If I know a flower unique in the world?” (ANTOINE SAINT EXUPERY)

“If I know a flower unique in the world?” (ANTOINE SAINT EXUPERY)

On the fifth day, always with the sheep, that secret the little prince’s life was revealed to me. He asked abruptly, without preamble, as the result of a problem long meditated in silence

A sheep, if it eats little bushes, he eats also flowers?

A sheep eats everything it encounters.

Even flowers that have thorns?

Yes. Even flowers that have thorns.

Then the thorns, what are they?

I do not know. I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt tightened my engine. I was very anxious for my failure began to appear to me as very serious, and drinking water that was exhausting me fear the worst.

Spines, what are they?

The little prince never let go of a question once he had asked. I was angry with my bolt and I answered anything:

The thorns, it is useless, it is pure evil from the flowers!

Oh! But after a pause, he looked at me with a sort of grudge:

I do not believe you! The flowers are small. They are naive. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that terrible with their spines … I said nothing. At that moment I thought: “If this resists bolt again, I’ll break a hammer. “

The little prince disturbed my thoughts:

And you actually believe that the flowers …

But no! But no! I do not believe it! I answered anything. I am very busy, serious stuff! He looked at me stunned.

Serious stuff! He saw me, my hammer in my hand and fingers black grease, bending down over an object which seemed to him extremely ugly.

You sound like great people! It made me a little ashamed.

But ruthless, he added:

You confuse everything … you mix everything!

He was really angry. He shook his hair in the wind all gold:

I know a planet where there is a red‐faced gentleman. It has never smelled a flower. He never looked at a star. It never loved anyone. He has never done anything other than additions. And all day he says like you: “I am a serious man! I am a serious man! “And that makes him swell pride. But this is not a man, it is a fungus!

A what?

A fungus!

The little prince was now white with rage.

There are millions of years flowers produce spines. There are millions of years that sheep eat e still the flowers. And it is not serious to seek why they take so much trouble to grow thorns which are never used for anything? This is not major war sheep and the flowers? This is no more serious and important additions of a stout gentleman red? And if I know myself, a single flower in the world, exists nowhere but on my planet, and a little sheep can wipe out all of a sudden like that, one morning, without realize what he’s doing is not important that!

He blushed, then continued:

If someone loves a flower of which just one copy in millions and millions of stars, that’s enough for he is happy when he looks.

He said: “My flower is somewhere … ‘But if the sheep eats the flower, it is for him as if, suddenly, all the stars went out! And it is not important! He could not say anything more. He suddenly burst into tears. Night had fallen. I dropped my tools. I laughed my hammer, my bolt, or thirst and death. There was a star, a planet, my planet, the Earth, a little prince to be comforted! I took him in my arms. I rocked him. I said: “The flower that you love is not in danger … I told him draw you a muzzle for your sheep … I’ll draw you a armor for your flower … I … “I did not know what to say. I felt very awkward. I did not know how to reach, where join … It’s so mysterious, the land of tears.





Antoine de Saint‐Exupery



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