Spring is beautiful everywhere, but it is more than beautiful in Lebanon. Spring is the spirit of an unknown God speeding through the world, which, as it reaches Lebanon, pauses, because now it is as at home with the souls of the Prophets and Kings hovering over the land, chanting with the brooks of Judea, the eternal Psalms of Solomon, renewing with the Cedars of Lebanon memories of an ancient glory.

The ageless melody, unheard, heals; the healing vision, unseen, leads; the true leaders, immortal, know...

I AM IGNORANT of absolute truth. But I am humble before my ignorance and therein lies my honor and my reward.

Who can depart from his pain and aloneness without regret? Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, bit a skin that I tear with my own hands... Yet I cannot tarry longer.

Then it is also in my heart to be worthy of your hate.

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts.