Lebanese-American writer, poet, and painter (1883–1931)
Gibran Khalil Gibran (6 January 1883 – 10 April 1931), usually referred to in English as Kahlil Gibran, was a Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist.
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No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.
The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness.
If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind.
ويل لأمة تكثر فيها المذاهب والطوائف وتخلو من الدين ، ويل لأمة تلبس مما لاتنسج ، وتأكل مما لاتزرع ، وتشرب مما لاتعصر ، ويل لأمة تحسب المستبد بطلا ، وترى الفاتح المذل رحيما ً، ويل لأمة لاترفع صوتها إلا إذا مشت بجنازة ، ولا تفخر إلا بالخراب ولا تثور إلا وعنقها بين السيف والنطع ..
ويلٌ لأمة سائسها ثعلب، و فيلسوفها مشعوذ، و فنها فن الترقيع و التقليد. ويلٌ لأمة تستقبل حاكمها بالتطبيل و تودعة بالصَّفير، لتستقبل آخر بالتطبيل و التزمير. ويلُ لأمة حكماؤها خرس من وقر السنين، و رجالها الأشداء لا يزالون في أقمطة السرير. ويلٌ لأمة مقسمة إلى أجزاء، و كل جزءي يحسب نفسه فيها أمة.
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.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips.
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He stood up and looked at me even as the seasons might look down upon the field, and He smiled. And He said again: "All men love you for themselves. I love you for yourself." And then He walked away. But no other man ever walked the way He walked. Was it a breath born in my garden that moved to the east? Or was it a storm that would shake all things to their foundations? I knew not, but on that day the sunset of His eyes slew the dragon in me, and I became a woman, I became Miriam, Miriam of Mijdel.