Kahlil Gibran to Mary Haskell.

When I am unhappy, dear Mary, I read your letters. When the mist overwhelms me the “I” in me,
I take two or three letters out of the little box and reread them. They remind me of my true self.
Each and every one of us, dear Mary, must have a resting place somewhere.
The resting place of my soul is a beautiful grove where my knowledge of you lives.

And now I am wrestling with colour. The strife is terrible, one of us must triumph!
The professors at the Academy say, “Do not make the model more beautiful than she is,”
and my soul whispers, “O, if you could only paint the model as beautiful as she really is”.
What shall I do, dear Mary? Shall I please the professors or my soul?

I think of you today, beloved friend, as I think of no other living person.
And as I think of you Life becomes better and higher and much more beautiful.
I kiss your hand, dear Mary, and in kissing your hand I bless myself.

Your last letter is a flame. Oh, there is no greater joy than the joy of Fire!
And now let me cry out with all the voices in me that I love you.
I wish I could tell you, beloved Mary, what your letters mean to me.
They create a soul in my soul. I read them as messages from life.
Somehow they always come when I need them most, and they always bring that element
which makes us desire more days and more nights and more life.

Now I will say goodnight.  I kiss you and then I say
goodnight and then I open the door and then I go out to the streets with a full heart and a hungry soul.
The most wonderful thing, Mary, is that you and I are always walking together,
hand in hand, in a strangely beautiful world, unknown to other people.
We both stretch one hand to receive from Life — and Life is generous indeed.

I love to be silent with you Mary.