The thorns are of no use at all. Flowers have thorns just for spite!
Oh!
There was a moment of complete silence. Then the little prince flashed back at me, with a kind of resentfulness:
I dont believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are name. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons...
I did not answer. At that instant I was saying to myself: If this bolt still wont turn, I am going to knock it out with the hammer. Again the little prince disturbed my thoughts.
And you actually believe that the flowers--
Oh, no! I cried. No, no no! I dont believe anything. I answered you with the first thing that came into my head. Dont you see-- I am very busy with matters of consequence!
He stared at me, thunderstruck.
Matters of consequence!
He looked at me there, with my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease, bending down over an object which seemed to him extremely ugly...
You talk just like the grown-ups!
That made me a little ashamed. But he went on, relentlessly:
You mix everything up together... You confuse everything...
He was really very angry. He tossed his golden curls in the breeze.
I know a planet where there is a certain red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved any one. He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all day he says over and over, just like you: I am busy with matters of consequence! And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not a man-- he is a mushroom!
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2016-02-29
2016-02-29
2016-02-29
2016-02-29
2016-02-29
2016-02-29