Some more of the poet Kahlil Gibran, whose poetry I read in intermittent waves of delight...
You progress not through improving what has been done, but by reaching toward what has yet to be done.
Of life's two chief prizes, beauty and truth, I found the first in a loving heart and the second in a labourer's hand.
The heartbreak of love sings, the sadness of knowledge speaks, the melancholy of desire whispers, and the anguish of poverty weeps. But there is a sorrow deeper than love, loftier than knowledge, stronger than desire, and more bitter than poverty. It is mute and has no voice; its eyes glitter like stars.
The fear of hell is hell itself, and the longing for paradise is paradise itself.
Where can I find a man governed by reason instead of habits and urges?
I prefer to be a dreamer among the humblest, with visions to be realised, than lord among those without dreams and desires.
People speak of plague with fear and tremor, yet of destroyers like Alexander and Napoleon, they speak with ecstatic reverence.
Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.
Keep me from the wisdom that does not weep, and the philosophy that does not laugh, and the pride that does not bow its head before a child.
Art is a step in the known,
toward the unknown.
When the earth exhales it gives birth to us. When it inhales death is our lot.
If reward is the goal of religion, if patriotism serves self interest, and if education is pursued for advancement, then I would prefer to be a nonbeliever, a non-patriot, and a humbly ignorant man.
An epoch will come when people will disclaim kinship with us, as we disclaim kinship with the monkeys.
Truth is the daughter of Inspiration; analysis and debate keep the people away from Truth.
Does the song of the sea end at the shore or in the hearts of those who listen to it?
The spiritual man is he who has experienced all earthly things and is in revolt against them.
If you wish to see the valleys, climb to the mountain top; if you desire to see the mountain top, rise into the cloud; but if you seek to understand the cloud, close your eyes and think.
Most of us hover dubiously between mute rebellion and prattling submission.
The butterfly will continue to hover over the field and the dewdrops will still glitter upon the grass when the pyramids of Egypt are leveled and the skyscrapers of New York are no more.
The poet is he who makes you feel, after reading his poem, that his best verses have not yet been composed.
The means of reviving a language lie in the heart of the poet and upon his lips and between his fingers. The poet is the mediator between the creative power and the people. He is the wire that transmits the news of the world of spirit to the world of research. The poet is the father and mother of the language, which goes wherever he goes. When he dies, it remains prostrate over his grave, weeping and forlorn, until another poet comes to uplift it.
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Almost the temptation is to add... 'Discuss'