The snail and the rosebush
Hans Christian Anderson (1805 -
1875)
There was once a vast plain where grazing sheep and cows. And the other
side of the vast meadow was the beautiful garden surrounded by hazel.
The center of the garden was completely dominated by a rose bush covered with flowers all year round. And there, in that aromatic world of color, living a snail, with all that represented their world, in tow, carrying on their backs as their home and belongings.
And he talked to himself about the time to be useful in life: - Patience! -Said the snail. My time will come. I will do much more than give roses or hazelnuts, much more than give milk like cows and sheep.
-We expect a lot of you said the Rosebush. Could you teach me knowing when what you're capable of doing?
I need time to think, said the Snail, you are always in a hurry. No, well not prepared surprises.
A year later the snail was basking in almost the same place as before, while the rose buds cast was busy and keep the freshness of your roses, always fresh, always new. The snail crept halfway out, stretched his horns and drew back.
-Nothing has changed, she said. Not the least progress notes. The rose continues its roses, and that's all it does.
He spent the summer and autumn came, and rose buds and roses continued to until the snow came. The weather became wet and sullen. The rose bent towards the earth, the snail crept into the ground.
Then began a new season, and aired roses and snail did the same.
-Now you're an old Rosebush said the Snail. You must hurry up and die. You've given the world all had it in you. Whether or not of much value, is something that I have not had time to think calmly. But clearly you have not done anything for your internal development, because in that case you would have produced something different to offer. What do you say to this? Soon there will be an dry steak ... Do you realize what I mean?
-You scare me said the Rosebush. I've never thought about it.
'Of course, you have never bothered to think about anything. Do you ever wonder why bloomed, and how, why they did it that way and not another?
'No,' the rose. Just happy to blossom, because I could not help it. The sun was warm, the air so refreshing! ... I drank the clear dew and rain generous, breathing, and alive. From the land down there, I climbed the force, which also fell on me from above. I felt a happiness that was always new, always, and so had to blossom over. That was my life, I could not do otherwise.
-Your life was too easy, said the Snail (Without stopping to observe himself).
'True,' said the Rosebush. I gave it everything. But you had better luck yet. You are one of those deep, thoughtful, one of those beings of great intelligence that will astonish the world someday ... someday.... But ... what good is the thinking over the years without doing anything useful for the world?
-No, no, no way, 'said the snail. The world does not exist for me. What do I have to do with the world? Enough is me to take care of myself and in myself.
- But should not we all give to others the best of us, we should not offer anything we could? It is true that I have not given but roses, but you, however, that you have so many gifts, what have you given to the world? What can you give?
- Give? Give him I to the world? I spit. What is the world? It means nothing to me. Go and continues to cultivate your roses, it is for all you serve. Let the hazel produce fruit, let the cows and sheep give milk, each has its audience, and I also I have mine within myself. I pick up inside me, and he'll stay! The world does not interest me.
And with these words, the snail withdrew into his house and sealed it.
- What a shame! Said the Rosebush. I have no way of hiding, however hard they try. I always come back again; I always show my roses again. Their petals fall and wind-blown, although he once saw how a mother kept one of my flowers in her prayer book, and how a nice girl lit another chest, kissed by a child and another on the first joy of their life. It did me good, was a true blessing. Such are my memories, my life.
And the Tree continued to flourish in all innocence, while the snail loafed in his house. The world meant nothing to him.
And over the years the snail was back down on land, and the land on earth rose, and pink memorable prayer book was gone ... But in the garden sprouting new rosebushes, and new snails followed the same philosophy that one, crawling indoors and spat the world that meant nothing to them.
And over time, the same story was continued repeating...
The center of the garden was completely dominated by a rose bush covered with flowers all year round. And there, in that aromatic world of color, living a snail, with all that represented their world, in tow, carrying on their backs as their home and belongings.
And he talked to himself about the time to be useful in life: - Patience! -Said the snail. My time will come. I will do much more than give roses or hazelnuts, much more than give milk like cows and sheep.
-We expect a lot of you said the Rosebush. Could you teach me knowing when what you're capable of doing?
I need time to think, said the Snail, you are always in a hurry. No, well not prepared surprises.
A year later the snail was basking in almost the same place as before, while the rose buds cast was busy and keep the freshness of your roses, always fresh, always new. The snail crept halfway out, stretched his horns and drew back.
-Nothing has changed, she said. Not the least progress notes. The rose continues its roses, and that's all it does.
He spent the summer and autumn came, and rose buds and roses continued to until the snow came. The weather became wet and sullen. The rose bent towards the earth, the snail crept into the ground.
Then began a new season, and aired roses and snail did the same.
-Now you're an old Rosebush said the Snail. You must hurry up and die. You've given the world all had it in you. Whether or not of much value, is something that I have not had time to think calmly. But clearly you have not done anything for your internal development, because in that case you would have produced something different to offer. What do you say to this? Soon there will be an dry steak ... Do you realize what I mean?
-You scare me said the Rosebush. I've never thought about it.
'Of course, you have never bothered to think about anything. Do you ever wonder why bloomed, and how, why they did it that way and not another?
'No,' the rose. Just happy to blossom, because I could not help it. The sun was warm, the air so refreshing! ... I drank the clear dew and rain generous, breathing, and alive. From the land down there, I climbed the force, which also fell on me from above. I felt a happiness that was always new, always, and so had to blossom over. That was my life, I could not do otherwise.
-Your life was too easy, said the Snail (Without stopping to observe himself).
'True,' said the Rosebush. I gave it everything. But you had better luck yet. You are one of those deep, thoughtful, one of those beings of great intelligence that will astonish the world someday ... someday.... But ... what good is the thinking over the years without doing anything useful for the world?
-No, no, no way, 'said the snail. The world does not exist for me. What do I have to do with the world? Enough is me to take care of myself and in myself.
- But should not we all give to others the best of us, we should not offer anything we could? It is true that I have not given but roses, but you, however, that you have so many gifts, what have you given to the world? What can you give?
- Give? Give him I to the world? I spit. What is the world? It means nothing to me. Go and continues to cultivate your roses, it is for all you serve. Let the hazel produce fruit, let the cows and sheep give milk, each has its audience, and I also I have mine within myself. I pick up inside me, and he'll stay! The world does not interest me.
And with these words, the snail withdrew into his house and sealed it.
- What a shame! Said the Rosebush. I have no way of hiding, however hard they try. I always come back again; I always show my roses again. Their petals fall and wind-blown, although he once saw how a mother kept one of my flowers in her prayer book, and how a nice girl lit another chest, kissed by a child and another on the first joy of their life. It did me good, was a true blessing. Such are my memories, my life.
And the Tree continued to flourish in all innocence, while the snail loafed in his house. The world meant nothing to him.
And over the years the snail was back down on land, and the land on earth rose, and pink memorable prayer book was gone ... But in the garden sprouting new rosebushes, and new snails followed the same philosophy that one, crawling indoors and spat the world that meant nothing to them.
And over time, the same story was continued repeating...
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