Kahlil Gibran

Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper,That we may record our emptiness.

What is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge?

All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.

Words are timeless. You should utter them or write them with a knowledge of their timelessness.

Yesterday was a beautiful tune on the lips of life and today is a silent secret.

They say: 'If a man knew himself,he would know all mankind.'I say: 'If a man loved mankind,he would know something of himself.

My house says to me, "Do not leave me, for here dwells your past."And the road says to me, "Come and follow me, for I am your future."And I say to both my house and the road, "I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death will change all things.

Imagination sees the complete reality, - it is where past, present and future meet... Imagination is limited neither to the reality which is apparent - nor to one place. It lives everywhere. It is at a centre and feels the vibrations of all the circles within which east and west are virtually included. Imagination is the life of mental freedom. It realizes what everything is in its many aspects ... Imagination does not uplift: we don't want to be uplifted, we want to be more completely aware.

Yesterday is but to-day__ memory and to-morrow is to-day__ dream.

Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it.

That deepest thing, that recognition, that knowledge, that sense of kinship began the first time I saw you,and it is the same now - only a thousand times deeper and tenderer. I shall love you to eternity. I loved you long before we met in this flesh. I knew that when I first saw you. It was destiny. We are together like this and nothing can shake us apart.

You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good, you are only loitering and sluggard.

Life is but a sleep disturbed By dreaming

Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names.It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop, while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.

Your children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.You may give them your love but not your thoughts,For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.You may strive to be like them,but seek not to make them like you.For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

Your children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life__ longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.You might give them your love but not your thoughts,For they have their own thoughts.

You may give them your love but not your thougts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life__ longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.