Omar Khayyam Quotes

Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.

Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd: 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain - This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies - The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

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.

Beyond the earth, beyond the farthest skies I try to find Heaven and Hell. Then I hear a solemn voice that says: "Heaven and hell are inside.

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?

Drink wine and look at the moon and think of all the civilisations the moon has seen passing by.

A book of verses underneath the bough A flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou Beside me singing in the wilderness And wilderness is paradise now.

Poor soul, you will never know anything of real importance. You will not uncover even one of life's secrets. Although all religions promise paradise, take care to create your own paradise here and now on earth.

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.

Realise this: one day your soul will depart from your body and you will be drawn behind the curtain that floats between us and the unknown. While you wait for that moment, be happy, because you don't know where you came from and you don't know where you will be going.

O friend, for the morrow let us not worry This moment we have now, let us not hurry When our time comes, we shall not tarry With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness - And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

There was a water-drop, it joined the sea, A speck of dust, it was fused with earth; what of your entering and leaving this world? A fly appeared, and disappeared.

Today is the time of my youth I drink wine because it is my solace; Do not blame me, although it is bitter it is pleasant, It is bitter because it is my life.

When you are so full of sorrow that you can't walk, can't cry anymore, think about the green foliage that sparkles after the rain. When the daylight exhausts you, when you hope a final night will cover the world, think about the awakening of a young child.

Alcohol makes other people less tedious, and food less bland, and can help provide what the Greeks called entheos, or the slight buzz of inspiration when reading or writing. The only worthwhile miracle in the New Testament—the transmutation of water into wine during the wedding at Cana—is a tribute to the persistence of Hellenism in an otherwise austere Judaea. The same applies to the seder at Passover, which is obviously modeled on the Platonic symposium: questions are asked (especially of the young) while wine is circulated. No better form of sodality has ever been devised: at Oxford one was positively expected to take wine during tutorials. The tongue must be untied. It's not a coincidence that Omar Khayyam, rebuking and ridiculing the stone-faced Iranian mullahs of his time, pointed to the value of the grape as a mockery of their joyless and sterile regime. Visiting today's Iran, I was delighted to find that citizens made a point of defying the clerical ban on booze, keeping it in their homes for visitors even if they didn't particularly take to it themselves, and bootlegging it with great brio and ingenuity. These small revolutions affirm the human.

Scholars really have nothing to teach you. But from the soft touch of the eyelashes of a woman you will know all there is to know about happiness.

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.

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

اي بس كه نباشيم و جهان خواهد بود ني نام زما و ني نشان خواهد بود زين پيش نبوديم و نبد هيچ خلل زين پس چو نباشيم همان خواهد بود

There are too many tears in my eyes! The fires of Hell are no more than sparks of fire as compared to the flames that consume me inside. Paradise? For me it means a moment of peace.

I 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.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End! Alike for those who for To-day prepare, And those that after some To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.

Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and days Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates,and slays, And one by one back in the closet lays.

I value the lover's sighs of happiness and I despise the hypocrite mumbling his prayers.

Oh, come with old Khayyàm, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

To all of us the thought of heaven is dear --- Why not be sure of it and make it here? No doubt there is a heaven yonder too, But 'tis so far away --- and you are near.

The moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it. -- Omar Khayyam ... Nor will I: ever write a word that fades in light, this I must be certain; else lay desolate at bight. <3

Don't pursue happiness! Life is as short as a sigh. The dust of people that were once famous turn with the reddish clay on the wheel you are looking at. The universe is a fata morgana; life is a dream.

Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once blown for ever dies.

I drink not from mere joy in wine nor to scoff at faith—no, only to forget myself for a moment, that only do I want of intoxication, that alone. —OMAR KHAYYAM

How much more of the mosque, of prayer and fasting? Better go drunk and begging round the taverns. Khayyam, drink wine, for soon this clay of yours Will make a cup, bowl, one day a jar. When once you hear the roses are in bloom, Then is the time, my love, to pour the wine; Houris and palaces and Heaven and Hell- These are but fairy-tales, forget them all.

Come, fill the Cup, in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing

When Allah created me, he knew that I would drink a lot of wine. So if I didn't, the omniscience of Allah would stand on its head.

It is a shame for anyone to be well-known for righteousness. It is a great disgrace to feel distress at the injustice of the turning of the wheels of fate.

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!

ماییم که اصل شادی و کان غمیم سرمایه ی دادیم و نهاد ستمیم پستیم و بلندیم و کمالیم و کمیم آیینه ی زنگ خورده و جام جمیم

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to it for help -- for It Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

I sometimes think the Pussy-Willows grey Are Angel Kittens who have lost their way, And every Bulrush on the river bank A Cat-Tail from some lovely Cat astray.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be merry with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

Where is an intimate friend who’ll hear the secret from me straight out– of what human beings have been from the moment they began? They are born of toil and molded from the clay of sorrow. They wander the world for a time, then set off.

I brought the cup to my lips with greed Begging for longevity, my temporal need Cup brought its to mine, its secret did feed Time never returns, drink, of this take heed

Of all my seeking this is all my gain: No agony of any mortal brain Shall wrest the secret of the life of man; The Search has taught me that the Search is vain.

Why was I born, when will I die? Who can change the day of his birth, who has a say in the day of his death? Come, my beloved, I want to ask the spirit of the wine to make me forget that we shall never understand.

He [Omar Khayyam] is an atheist, but knows how to interpret in orthodox style the most difficult passages of the Koran; for every educated man is a theologian and faith is not a requisite.

May your love for your beloved be as great as the love of the bottle for the glass. Look, how one gives and one receives, lip against lip, the precious blood of the grapes!

I came like water, and like wind I go

Tu demandes d'où vient notre souffle de vie. S'il fallait résumer une trop longue histoire, Je dirais qu'il surgit du fond de l'océan, Puis soudain l'océan l'engloutit à nouveau. Omar Khayyam

Dawn filled the sky with roses. In the crystal-clear air the last song of the nightingale dies. The smell of the wine weakens. This is the moment when fools dream of fame! How soft is your hair, my beloved!

Be quiet, pain and sorrow! Let me find a remedy. I have to live, as once dead there is no memory. And I want to see my love and be with her. And I want to remember our being together.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!

Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me The Quarrel of the Universe let be: And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd, Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

What is my true substance? What will remain of me after my death? Our life is as short as a raging fire: flames the passer-by soon forgets, ashes the wind blows away. A man's life.

Shall I still sigh for what I have not got, Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot? Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath I now am drawing is my last, or not!

نمضي و تبقى العيشةالراضية وتنمحي آثارناالماضية فقبل أن نحيا ومن بعدنا وهذه الدنيا على ماهيه

You say some Greek philosophers could dazzle their audiences with their riddles? That does not interest me at all. Bring more wine instead and play your lute; your changes in tones remind me of the wind that rushes past and disappears, just like us.

Scholars really have nothing to teach you. But from the soft touch of the eyelashes of a woman you will know all there is to know about happiness. Buy wine, take it to a secluded place and let it comfort you.

We shall perish along the path of Love. Fate will trample us. Yeah, tempting young woman, get up and give me your lips before I return to dust.

Every particle of dust on a patch of earth Was a sun-cheek or brow of the morning star; Shake the dust off your sleeve carefully-- That too was a delicate, fair face.

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 scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

What shall I do, today? Visit the pub? Sit down in a garden with a book? A bird flies past. Where is it headed? It's out of sight already. The drunkenness of a bird in the burning azure. The melancholy of a man in the cool shadow of a mosque.

Tis all a chequer board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with men for pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

If wine is the enemy of religion, I shall devour the enemy of religion.

Whether at Naishápúr or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

The scent of wine rising from my grave will be so strong that it will intoxicate passers-by. There will be such an atmosphere of serenity that couples in love will find it impossible to tear themselves away.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in the Nothing all Things end in - Yes - Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what Thou shalt be - Nothing - though shalt not be less.

Inscribed on it was a verse from the Quatrains of Omar Khayyam, the eleventh-century Persian mystic. Reading the words aloud I prepared for a most amazing journey: The sages who have compassed sea and land, Their secret to search out and understand, My mind misgives me if they ever solve The scheme on which the universe is planned.

هر یک چندی یکی بر آید که: منم! با نعمت و با سیم و زر آید که: منم! چون کارَک او نظام گیرد روزی، ناگه، اجل از کمین در آید که: منم!

The leaves of life are falling one by one

For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

Know yourself as a snowdrift on the sand Heaped for two days, or three, then thawed and gone. (c.1050-c.1123)

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Is it not a Shame--is it not a Shame for him So long in this Clay suburb to abide!

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

I see a horseman disappearing into the evening mist. Will he travel through woods or across wild plains? Where is he heading? I don't know. Tomorrow, will I be stretched out above or below the earth? I don't know.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep: And Bahrám, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

Our life is as short as a raging fire: flames the passer-by soon forgets, ashes the wind blows away. A man's life.

The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

Into this Universe, and why not knowing, Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

This clay, so strong of heart, of sense so fine, Surely such clay is more than half divine-- 'Tis only fools speak evil of the clay, The very stars are made of clay like mine.

One can no more set fire to the sea, than convince people of the dangers of happiness - And yet, we know that though the smallest shock is fatal to the filled up bottle, that shock will not break the empty one.

God is great!" That shout from the mosque seems like a grand lamentation. Five times a day the earth seems to groan against its indifferent creator!

To bind one free man with love is better than to release a thousand slaves.

We are in truth but pieces on this chess board of life,which in the end we leave,only to drop one by one into the grave of nothingness.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in —Yes; Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY You were—TO-MORROW you shall not be less

I am the sun I am the sea I am the one By infinity I am the spark I am the light I am the dark And I am the night I am Iran I am Xerxes I am Zal’s son And I am a beast I am God’s own Emissary Colour my heart Red, white and green I am Ferdowsi I am Hafez I am Saadi Rolled all in one breath Ibn Sina Omar Khayyam Look at me now Bundled in one I am the present I am the past I am the future My presence will last I am Ismail My soul is unleashed ‘Till the day at least The sun sets in the east

Step outside on the terrace if you can't sleep in the heat. Don't be surprised if you find me there. The summer stars are spectacular. Just make sure you sleep near the half wall. Stay out of the sight line of the north tower. It would be scandalous if Uncle Solomon watched you sleep. You know, Islamic propriety and all. And by the way, you sleep about as quiet as an egg beater.

God, you have paved our path with a thousand invisible stumbling stones and you have said: woe betide those that stumble! You see all and you know all. Nothing happens without your consent, so how can you hold us responsible for our failures? Can you blame me that I object to this?

أتريد معرفة الجحيم بكنهها ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ إن الجحيم لصحبة الجهال

Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain—This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

One of the world’s most fascinating mysteries is surely the Tamam Shud case. In December 1948, an unidentified man was found dead on a beach in Adelaide. The only clue to a possible identity was a tiny piece of paper found in a hidden pocket sewn into the trousers of the dead man with the words ‘Tamam Shud’ scribbled on it. The phrase is used on the last page of a collection of poems of Omar Khayyam called The Rubaiyat, a copy of which was found with a scribbled code in it, which was believed to have been written in there by the dead man. What does the code mean? What was it leading him to? Why and how did he die? All of these questions remain completely unanswered to this day and the case is as much of a mystery now as it was the very day the body was discovered.

The arch of heaven looks like an upside-down cup, under which the wise wander in vain. May your love for your beloved be as great as the love of the bottle for the glass. Look, how one gives and one receives, lip against lip, the precious blood of the grapes.

The creator of stars, heaven and earth surpassed himself when he also created pain. Lips like rubies, delicious-smelling hair, blooming flowers, how many of you are already buried in earthy soil?

And do you think that unto such as you, A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew, God gave the Secret, and denied it me?-- Well, well, what matters it! believe that too. Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee; If only you were half so good as he! He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness, Great-hearted mirth and kind adultery. But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue, The wintry soul that hates to hear a song, The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye, And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.