'and still His speech slumbers within our breast like a love-song half forgotten, and sometimes it burns itself through to our memory'
'now a man who loves with his heart yet holds a doubt in his mind, is but a slave in a gallery who sleeps at his oar and dreams of freedom, till the lash of the master wakes him'
'doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.'
'when He smiled His smile was as the hunger of those who long after the unknown. it was like the dust of stars falling upon the eyelids of children. and it was like a morsel of bread in the throat.'
'He saw for our eyes and heard for our ears, and our silent words were upon His lips; and His fingers touched what we could not feel.'
"oftentimes i have seen Him bend down to touch the blades of grass. And in my heart i have heard Him say: 'little green things, you shall be with me in my kingdom'"
'he loved all things of loveliness, the shy faces of children.'
'aye, He was a poet whose heart dwelt in a bower beyond the heights, and His songs though sung for our ears, were sung for other ears also, and to men in another land where life is forever young and time is always dawn.'
'and since i have known that my lyre has but one string, and that my voice weaves neither the memories of yesturday nor the hopes of tomorrow, I have put aside my lyre and i shall keep silence. but always at twilight i shall hearken, and i shall listen to the poet who is the sovreign of all poets.'
'on the day of reckoning these women shall rise before the throne of the Father, and they shall be made pure by their own tears. but you shall be held down by the chains of your own judgement. babylon was not put to waste by her prostitutes; Babylon fell to ashes that the eyes of her hypocrites might no longer see the light of day'
'all that was timeless before Him became timeful in Him.'
'we whose senses have been dulled, we gaze in full daylight and yet we do not see. we would cup our ears, but we do not hear; and stretch forth our hands, but we do not touch. and though all the incense of arabia, we go our own way and do not smell.'
'to Him the root of a buttercup was a longing towards God, while to us it is naught but a root.'

-kahlil gibran (Jesus: the son of man)