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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=430821" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Chapter 9 - The Seven Selves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the stillest hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow by night. I can bear my fate no longer, and now I rebel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Second Self: Yours is a better lot than mine, brother, for it is given to me to be this madman's joyous self. I laugh his laughter and sing his happy hours, and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts. It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Third Self: And what of me, the love-ridden self, the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires? It is I the love-sick self who would rebel against this madman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fourth Self: I, amongst you all, am the most miserable, for naught was given me but odious hatred and destructive loathing. It is I, the tempest-like self, the one born in the black caves of Hell, who would protest against serving this madman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fifth Self: Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self, the self of hunger and thirst, the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things and things not yet created; it is I, not you, who would rebel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sixth Self: And I, the working self, the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes, fashion the days into images and give the formless elements new and eternal forms-it is I, the solitary one, who would rebel against this restless madman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seventh Self: How strange that you all would rebel against this man, because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfil. Ah! could I but be like one of you, a self with a determined lot! But I have none, I am the do-nothing self, the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen, while you are busy re-creating life. Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more; and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness, which is behind all things.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Khalil+Gibran">Khalil Gibran</a><div class=q>
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First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorr..."></div>
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