Khalil Gibran Quotes

No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.

That was one of the saddest things about people--their most important thoughts and feelings often went unspoken and barely understood.

One does not always know how to express the sorrow of the soul. One does not always know how to silence the joy of the heart.

Will holding a secret in your heart make it any less true? If you never tell, never speak of it, will it become only a dream, less than a dream, a nightmare half-remembered? Oh, if only the gods would be so good. (Catelyn)

I often don't say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you'd never guess from looking at me.

My heart is full of many things there are moments when I feel that speech is nothing after all.

As we hang beneath the heavens, and we hover over hell, our hearts become the instruments we learn to play so well.

I don't reveal to her that I love her. I keep poker faced. She might as well be looking at a cantaloupe, there is so little information in my face, but my heart is beating.

If I showed you what was in my heart," she said, "it would burn you to a cinder. "I've tried to burn you similarly," it said, "but you never even noticed when I opened my chest.

Secret sins commonly lie nearest the heart.

The brooding is better than the joy because even if the heart fills with happiness, it still mourns.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep, do you?

For a small moment, I fix my eyes on his, telling him silently everything that I'll never say to him aloud.

The hearts of all men dwell in the same wilderness.

When I am silent, I have thunder hidden inside.

There's a sea secret in me / it's plain to see it is rising / but I must be flowing liquid diamonds / calling for my soul / at the corners of the world

The sorrow which calls for help and comfort is not the greatest, nor does it come from the depths of the heart.

But the older he grew and the more intimately he came to know his brother, the oftener the thought occurred to him that the power of working for the general welfare – a power of which he felt himself entirely destitute – was not a virtue but rather a lack of something: not a lack of kindly honesty and noble desires and tastes, but a lack of the power of living, of what is called heart – the aspiration which makes a man choose one out of all the innumerable paths of life that present themselves, and desire that alone.

We have all our private terrors, our particular shadows, our secret fears. We are afraid in a fear which we cannot face, which none understands, and our hearts are torn from us, our brains unskinned like the layers of an onion, ourselves the last.

So why did I think about her every second? Why was I so much happier the minute I saw her? I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sure? I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to find out. Guys don't talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.

Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.

When I look at my life and its secret colors, I feel like bursting into tears.