You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.
OMAR KHAYYAMIf I don’t enjoy myself now, when shall I?
More Omar Khayyam Quotes
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To friends and eke to foes true kindness show; No kindly heart unkindly deeds will do; Harshness will alienate a bosom friend. And kindness reconcile a deadly foe.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate; And many a Knot unravel’d by the Road; But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
I wonder what the vintners buy one half so precious as the stuff they sell.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Why, 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 KHAYYAM -
I hide my distress, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and your indifference to my sadness, my loved-one!
OMAR KHAYYAM -
It’s too bad if a heart lacks fire, and is deprived of the light of a heart ablaze. The day on which you are without passionate love is the most wasted day of your life.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
Tomorrow! – Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday’s sev’n thousand years.
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 -
Fools, your reward is neither here nor there.
OMAR KHAYYAM -
If I don’t enjoy myself now, when shall I?
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






