I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
OMAR KHAYYAMI hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
OMAR KHAYYAMGive me a flagon of red wine, a book of verses, a loaf of bread, and a little idleness. If with such store I might sit by thy dear side in some lonely place, I should deem myself happier than a king in his kingdom.
OMAR KHAYYAMWhy, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d Of the Two Worlds so wisely – they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scattered, and their mouths are stopped with Dust.
OMAR KHAYYAMAwake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.
OMAR KHAYYAMAh, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
OMAR KHAYYAMA loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
OMAR KHAYYAMIndeed the Idols I have loved so long, have done my credit in this World much wrong; have drowned my Glory in a shallow Cup, and sold my Reputation for a Song.
OMAR KHAYYAMDust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
OMAR KHAYYAMHere’s to the man Who owns the land That bears the grapes That makes the wine That tastes as good As this does.
OMAR KHAYYAMThy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.
OMAR KHAYYAMI can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner; I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly; I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain; I have a secret that I cannot share.
OMAR KHAYYAMA drink is shorter than a tale.
OMAR KHAYYAMI have not asked for life. But I try to accept whatever life brings without surprise. And I shall depart again without having questioned anyone about my strange stay here on earth.
OMAR KHAYYAMTo wisely live your life, you don’t need to know much just remember two main rules for the beginning: You better starve, than eat whatever And better be alone, than with whoever.
OMAR KHAYYAMWe are thinking about bad only those who are worse than we are, and those who are better than us … I’m just not up to us … One does not follow it than smell roses. Another of the bitter herbs will produce honey. Give bread to one – will remember forever. Another life donation – do not understand.
OMAR KHAYYAMCome, 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 KHAYYAM