I said to myself, again: “What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower
the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep . . .”
And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be extinguished by a little puff of wind . . .
“The men where you live,” said the little prince, “raise five thousand roses in the same garden– and they do not find in it what they are looking for.” “They do not find it,” I replied. “And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water.”
“Yes, that is true,” I said.
And the little prince added: “But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart…”