

“You are beautiful, but empty,” continued the Little Prince. “I don't want to die for you. Of course, a random passerby, looking at my rose, will say that it is exactly the same as you. But she alone is dearer to me than all of you. After all, it is her, and not you, I watered every day. He covered her, not you, with a glass cap. He blocked it with a screen, protecting it from the wind. For her, he killed the caterpillars, only left two or three for the butterflies to hatch. I listened to how she complained and how she boasted, I listened to her even when she was silent. She is mine.