And a woman spoke, saying, “Tell us of Pain.”

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

                                                                                  KHALIL GIBRAN



Then said a teacher, “Speak to us of Teaching.”

And he said:

No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of our 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 wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind.

The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding of space, but he cannot give you his understanding.

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.

And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you thither.

For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man.

And even as each one of you stands alone in God’s knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his knowledge of God and in his understanding of the earth.


And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, “Speak to us of Children.” And he said:

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.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.






1. The man who has no imagination has no wings. (Muhammed Ali)




2. He who opens a school door, closes a prison (Victor Hugo)




3. The only way to have a friend is to be one. (Emerson)




4. A man is hidden under his tongue. (Hadrat Ali)




5. The best academy, a mother’s knee. (James Russel Lowel)




6. Whoever has beauty must know that it is borrowed. (Mawlana)




7. The truest guide in life is knowledge. (Atatürk)




8. Everything comes if a man will only wait. (Benjamin Disrealli)




9. I would never die for my beliefs, cause I might be wrong. (Betrand Russel)




10. If you judge people, you have no time to love them. (Mother Teresa)




11. Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind. (Einstein)




12. Nothing endures but change. (Heraclitus)



13. You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist. (Indira Gandhi)




14. We are shaped and fashioned by what we love. (Goethe)




15. Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. (Pablo Picasso)