In monasteries, seminaries, retreats and synagogues, they fear hell and seek paradise. Those who know the mysteries of God never let that seed be planted in their souls.
OMAR KHAYYAMI hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
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 -
Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
How sad, a heart that does not know how to love, that does not know what it is to be drunk with love. If you are not in love, how can you enjoy the blinding light of the sun, the soft light of the moon?
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Drink! For you know not whence you came nor why.
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 -
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 -
Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow; Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee; Make not too sure another breath to borrow.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Heaven but the vision of fulfilled desire, and Hell the shadow from a soul on fire.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.
OMAR KHAYYAM