A few days ago I read a wonderful book, “The Prophet”, by Khalil Jibran. It’s a worth reading book would that I read it before, but never mind, it’s never too late to do. It revolves around our life and the obstacles it faces, teaches us the way to live as we asked to, it solves the queries of intertwined relations. A book par excellence.
Let's take a look at one of the scripts.
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing itself. They come through you, but not from you, And though they are with you they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not your souls For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, Which you can not visit, even not in your dreams. You may strive to be like them ,but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bow from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, And he bends you with his might that his arrow may go swift and far. Let your banding in the archer’s hand be for gladness ; For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so he Loves also the bow that is stable.