<3

Good

A reiteration on love being the uttermost virtue in the world. The multiple stories in the book bring forth the concept that true love is worth dying for - it is only honorable to face death that to be in a loveless marriage.

Exquisite poetry.

This is probably the kind of book where you have to be in love when you read it. I'm not in love for once, so as pretty as the writing was, things got kind of repetitive after a while.

I can see how Gibran's works were scandalous given his cultural and historical context. Lots of stuff here that I need to ponder. I'll read it again one day!

"My lover loves me and seeks me in his own works, but he will find me only in the works of God."

"The great truths that are above nature do not pass from one human being to another by means of ordinary human speech. Rather, they choose silence as the path between souls."

"He who reveals secrets is like the foolish man. Silence and concealment is better for him who loves."

It makes me think how powerful & fearless Khalil Gibran's was to have wrtten on such themes. Imagine the upraor this book must have caused in the 1900's when they were first published in Arabic. His first and target audience was the Arabic world withen which women did not have the right or the freedom to choose their own partners.These themes still exist even to this day so it is easy to relate to all his writings.A great book of short stories.

A soaring collection of poems, short stories and general musings on the subject of love. Impossible not to be inspired and swayed by Gibran's beautiful prose.

Awfully romantic, beautifully written prose in light of the linguistic alterations.

this book is incredibly beautifully written. love is real!

Beautifully translated.

CONTENTS
Introduction to the Penguin edition by Robin Waterfield
Introduction by John Walbridge
Note on Texts
At the Gate of the Temple
Night Songs
Songs
Rose Al-Hani
The Enchanting Spirit
The life of Love
In a Year Unrecorded in History
The Beloved
The Queen of Imagination
Words of Love
Communion
Among the Ruins
Before Suicide
A Smile and a Tear
A Dialogue of Spirits
The Bridal Bed
In the Name of God, My Heart
What is Hidden in Hearts
Daughters of the Sea
O Night

To the spirit that embraced my spirit, to the heart that poured its secrets into my heart, to the hand that kindled the fire of my emotions, I dedicate this book. - Gibran

This was Gibran's dedication of his collection Rebellious Spirits, in which the stories 'Rose al-Hani' and 'The Bridal Bed' appeared. It is addressed to his friend and patron Mary Haskell.

I purified my lips with sacred fire that I might speak of love, but when I opened my mouth to speak, I found myself mute.

I sang the melodies of a love I did not yet know, but when I came to know it, the words became a muffled whisper in my mouth, the songs in my breast a profound silence.

Will you not tell me what is this fire kindled in my breast? It consumes my faculties and melts my emotions and desires.
What are these invisible hands, soft yet coarse, that grip my spirit in my hours of solitude and loneliness? Into my heart they pour wine mixed with the bitterness of pleasure and the sweetness of pain.
What are these wings rustling about my couch in the silence of the night as I watch wakeful for what I know not, listening to what I do not hear, staring at what I do not see, pondering what I do not comprehend, aware of what I do not apprehend, sighing because in sighs are the groanings more beloved to me than the echoes of laughter and joy, submitting to an unseen power that slays me, then gives me life, then slays me again and again until dawn breaks and light fills the corners of my room. Then I sleep. Yet behind my spent eyelids forms of wakefulness dance and on my stony blanket sway the phantoms of dreams.
What is this which we call 'love'?
Tell me what is this hidden mystery concealed beyond the ages, lurking behind appearances, yet making its home in the heart of being?
What is this unconditioned thought that comes as the cause of all effects, as the effect of all causes?
What is this wakefulness that encompasses both death and life and molds them into a dream stranger than life and deeper than death?
- At the Gate of the Temple

Silent is the night, but in the robe of silence
dreams lie waiting.
The moon rolls overhead.
Its watchful eyes observe
the passing days.
- Night Songs

In the depths of my soul there are songs unwilling to take the garb of words, songs living as seed in my heart.
Songs spread out by silence and rolled up by noise, echoed in dreams and concealed by wakefulness.
- Songs

This earthly life begins beneath the feet of angry matter and ends in the hands of peaceful death.
- Songs of the Rain, Songs

[Like many of the people living in Syria,] He did not look beyond things and saw only what was apparent. He did not listen to the song of his soul, but busied his affections with the songs produced by his surroundings. He was inclined to amuse himself with those tawdry things of the visible world that blind one to the secrets of life and that turn the soul away from apprehending the mysteries of being and toward the contemplation of temporal pleasures. He was one of those men who are in a hurry to show their love or hatred for people and things but then regret their haste after some time has passed, making them the butt of mockery and scorn, not forgiveness.

Have we not heard and seen that often superficial beauty has been the cause of hidden and dreadful afflictions, of deep and painful sorrows? Is not the moon, whose rays shine on limpid waters for the poets, that same moon that causes the ebb and flow of the tides troubling the seas?

My body has been shackled before I had known the essence of those chains or the consequences of that law. When I awoke and felt these things, I knew that a woman's happiness is not to be found in a man's wealth or in obedience to him, nor even in his generosity and kindness. It is to be found in the love that binds her spirit to his, a love that pours her emotions into his heart, that makes them one limb of the body of life, one word upon the lips of God.

Love is a power that creates our hearts, Our hearts cannot create love.

Love descends into our spirits by a decree of God, not by human intention.

Some people come forth from eternity and then return to it without having tasted of true life.

With their small eyes they look upon the exterior of acts but do not see their mysteries. In ignorance they judge and in blindness they condemn.

They judge souls by the standards of bodies and weigh the spirit in material scales.

'Look at these beautiful houses and tall and stately palaces. There live the rich and powerful among men. Their walls are decorated with silken tapestries yet enclose coarse treachery concealed by hypocrisy. Beneath their gilded roofs, falsehood stands close by affectation. Look! and think on those edifices with care. To you they symbolize wealth, power, and happiness, but they are no more than caves in which lurk degradation, misery and wretchedness. Within them the flash of silver and gold hides the egotism and bestiality of me. They are palaces whose walls rise in haughtiness and pride toward the sky, but if they could perceive the stench of the loathsome things and deceit flowing from them, they would crumble and fall to the ground in ruin.'

Mankind only exiles the one whose large spirit rebels against injustice and tyranny. He who does not prefer exile to servility is not free in the true and necessary sense of freedom.

Heaven did not wish man to be unhappy, for it has placed in the depths of his being a longing for happiness - for through man's happiness God is glorified.
- Rose Al-Hani

Come near, my life's companion. Come near to me, and do not let the icy breaths separate our two bodies. Sit beside me before the hearth, for fire is the sweetest fruit of winter. Tell me stories of bygone times, for my ears weary of the wind's sighs and the keening of the elements. Bolt the doors and windows, for the sight of angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart... Fill the lamp with oil, O my life's companion, for it burs low. Place it near me so I can see what the nights have written on your face. Bring a jug of wine for us to drink, and we will remember the days when it was pressed.
Come, come near to me, beloved of my soul, for the fire has burned down and the ashes cover it. Embrace me, for the lamp has gone out and darkness presses in. Our eyes have grown heavy with the wine of years. Look on me with eyes shadowed with sleep. Embrace me before slumber embraces me. Kiss me, for the ice has conquered all but your kiss. And oh, my beloved, how deep is the sea of sleep, how far distant is the morning... in this world!
- Winter, The Life of Love

The wretched trudge to the factories, features showing the shadow of despair and fear, the shadow that would darken the face of one sent against his will to a fearful and deadly battle. The streets are choked with people in greedy haste.
The town has become a battlefield where strong fight weak and the tyrannous rich monopolize the fruits of the toil of the poor and destitute.
How harsh is life here, my beloved, for it is like the heart of a criminal, filled with vice and horrors!
- A Dialogue of Spirits

Man can find no comfort but in words and complaint. Sorrow, my friend, is eased by complaint. The lover finds solace in words of longing. The oppressed finds pleasure in seeking mercy.
- What is hidden in the Hearts