The Nightingale and the Rose is one of my favorite short stories.
'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, `only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'
`There is a way,' answered the Tree; `but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'
`Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, `I am not afraid.'
`If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, `you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'
Why is it that I must sacrifice for anything worth having?
And why is so high a price demanded for anything I love?