There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.
OMAR KHAYYAMA loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
More Omar Khayyam Quotes
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A drink is shorter than a tale.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
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 KHAYYAM -
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Drink! for you know not when you came, nor why; Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Ah Love! could you and I with him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire Would we not shatter it to bits-and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Drink! For you know not whence you came nor why.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
And this I know; whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, One flash of it within the Tavern caught Better than in the temple lost outright.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
I came like Water, and like Wind I go.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
The entire world shall be populous with that action which saves one soul from despair.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
We 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 KHAYYAM -
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Into this universe, and why not knowing Nor whence, like water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as wind along the wate, I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Hearts are like tapers, which at beauteous eyes Kindle a flame of love that never dies; And beauty is a flame, where hearts, like moths, Offer themselves a burning sacrifice.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
OMAR KHAYYAM






