For love is sufficient unto love.
What is fear of need but need itself?
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care, nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.
And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone.
The mind speaks not more sweetly to the giant Oaks than to the least of all blades of grass, And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?
Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?
You who travel with the wind, what weather vane shall direct your course?
As the strings of a lute are apart though they quiver the same music.
The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm, nor the voice that echoes it.
For the soul walks upon all paths.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
Your children are not your children.
Aye, and he falls for those ahead of him, who, though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone.
The self same well from which your laughs rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man.
Work with love, it is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness ere you build a house within the city walls.
THEN said a rich man, Speak to us of Giving.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
More Khalil Gibran Quotations (Based on Topics)
Love - Life - Beauty - Wisdom & Knowledge - Truth - Soul - Death & Dying - Joy & Excitement - Secrets - Man - God - Mind - Dreams - Sadness - People - Friendship - Pain - Body - Passion - View All Khalil Gibran Quotations
More Khalil Gibran Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Spirits Rebellious
- The Prophet
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