Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly-and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
OMAR KHAYYAMLiving Life Tomorrow’s fate, though thou be wise, Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise; Pass, therefore, not today in vain, For it will never come again.
More Omar Khayyam Quotes
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Drink! for you know not when you came, nor why; Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
A drink is shorter than a tale.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
If I don’t enjoy myself now, when shall I?
OMAR KHAYYAM -
This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
By Fate full many a heart has been undone, And many a sprightly rose made woe-begone; Plume thee not on thy lusty youth and strength: Full many a bud is blasted ere its bloom.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev’n with Paradise devise the snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blackened – Man’s forgiveness give and take!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Men talk of heaven, – there is no heaven but here; Men talk of hell, – there is no hell but here; Men of hereafters talk and future lives, – O love, there is no other life – but here.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Heaven has not learned of my arrival, and my departure will not in the least diminish it beauty and grandeur. I will sleep underground, for us ephemeral mortals, the only eternity is the moment and drinking to the moment is better than weeping for it.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
So I be written in the Book of Love. I do not care about that Book Above. Erase my name, or write it as you will. So I be written in the Book of Love.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
The Flower that once has blown forever dies.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
OMAR KHAYYAM