Books like The Garden of The Prophet

جُبرانالروح الملائكية التي عاشت بيننا يوما ~\ Life is deep and high and distant; and though ‎‎only your vast ‎vision can reach even her feet, yet ‎‎she is near; and though ‎only the breath of your ‎‎breath reaches her heart, the shadow ‎of your ‎‎shadow crosses her face, and the echo of your ‎‎‎faintest cry becomes a spring and an autumn in ‎‎her breast‏.‏And life is veiled and hidden, even as your ‎greater ‎self is ‎hidden and veiled. Yet when Life ‎speaks, all ‎the winds ‎become words; and when ‎she speaks ‎again, the smiles upon ‎your lips and ‎the tears in ‎your eyes turn also into words. ‎‎When she sings, ‎the deaf hear and are held; and ‎when she ‎comes ‎walking, the sightless behold ‎her and are amazed ‎and ‎follow her in wonder ‎and astonishment‏.‏*-*-*-*-*-*Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero‎‏,‏and that deems the glittering conqueror ‎bountiful‏.‏Pity a nation that despises a passion in its ‎dream‏,‏yet submits in its awakening‏.‏Pity the nation that raises not its voice‎save when it walks in a funeral‏,‏boasts not except among its ruins‏,‏and will rebel not save when its neck is laidbetween the sword and the block‏.‏Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox‏,‏whose philosopher is a juggler‏,‏and whose art is the art of patching and ‎‎mimickingPity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with ‎‎trumpeting‏‎,‎and farewells him with hooting‏,‏only to welcome another with trumpeting again‏.‏Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with yearsand whose strongmen are yet in the cradle‎‏.‏Pity the nation divided into fragments‏‏each fragment deeming itself a nation‎‏.‏‏‎ ‎‎*-*-*-*-*-*Call me not wise unless you call all men wise. A ‎‎young fruit ‎am I, still clinging to the branch and ‎it ‎was only yesterday ‎that I was a blossom. And ‎call ‎none among you foolish for ‎we are neither ‎wise ‎nor foolish. We are green leaves upon ‎the ‎tree of ‎life and surely life itself if beyond wisdom ‎and ‎‎surely beyond foolishness‏.‏*-*-*-*-*-*Oftentimes we call Life bitter names, but only ‎‎when we ‎ourselves are bitter and dark. And we ‎‎deem her empty and ‎unprofitable, but only ‎when ‎the soul goes wandering in ‎desolate places, ‎and the ‎heart is drunken with ‎overmindfulness ‎of self‏.‏\