It is a rare book indeed that manages to straddle the worlds of philosophy, poetry, and self-help without sounding like an overenthusiastic life coach or a fortune cookie on steroids. But Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet does exactly that. Published in 1923, this slim yet profound volume has managed to lodge itself into the collective consciousness of humanity like an immovable literary earworm. It has been quoted at weddings, funerals, and occasionally (though questionably) at corporate retreats, where well-meaning managers attempt to extract fiscal wisdom from Gibran’s lyrical musings.

So what is The Prophet, and why has it endured for over a century? The book follows the farewell address of a prophet named Almustafa, who, just as he is about to leave a city where he has lived in exile, is asked by the townspeople to impart wisdom on topics such as love, work, children, and death. What follows is a cascade of poetic reflections so effortlessly quotable that they might as well come pre-embroidered on throw pillows.

Take, for example, his passage on love:

“When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.”

Or work:

“Work is love made visible.”

Or children:

“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”

It’s no wonder The Prophet has become a staple gift for deep-thinking college graduates and anyone going through a midlife crisis. But the book is more than just an aphorism generator. Gibran, a Lebanese-American writer and artist, poured into it a blend of Christian mysticism, Sufi philosophy, and an earnest belief in the transformative power of beauty and kindness. The result is something both deeply personal and universal—profound without being ponderous, poetic without being pretentious.

That’s not to say The Prophet doesn’t have its critics. Some dismiss it as spiritual pablum—too vague to be truly meaningful, too earnest to be genuinely subversive. And sure, there are moments when the prose flirts with the syrupy, like an overzealous greeting card. But to dismiss Gibran’s work entirely is to ignore the quiet, steady impact it has had on generations of readers who return to its pages as one might return to an old friend—seeking solace, perspective, or at the very least, a well-turned phrase to scribble into a wedding speech.

A hundred years on, The Prophet remains one of the best-selling books of all time, second only to The Bible and The Lord of the Rings in terms of global ubiquity. And unlike many books of its era, it refuses to gather dust on the shelf, constantly rediscovered by seekers, poets, and the occasional Hollywood scriptwriter looking for something wise-sounding to put in the mouth of a sage old character.

Gibran himself once wrote, “You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.” In writing The Prophet, he gave of himself completely. The fact that we are still reading—and quoting—his words a century later suggests that, however skeptical we may be, we still hunger for a voice that speaks to the human soul with both wisdom and warmth. And if that means the occasional embroidered pillow, so be it.