Omar Khayyám

Omar
Khayyám
1048
1131

Persian Poet, Mathematician, Polymath and Astronomer who also wrote treatises on Mechanics, Geography, Mineralogy, Music, Climatology and Theology

Author Quotes

Tenth senior minds of people and by the people of the ignorant curiosity and drink infusion of poison sane and pour on the ground Aljhol medicine.

The Vine had struck a fibre: which about if clings my being ? let the Dervish flout; of my Base metal may be filed a Key, that shall unlock the Door he howls without.

This body is a tent which for a space does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; when he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.

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.

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, and Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; but still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, and many a Garden by the Water blows.

Now the New Year reviving old Desires, the thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

People talk about the Creator - But surely he didn't create man only to destroy him later! Because we are bad? And who's to blame for that? Or because we are beautiful? I can't make any sense of it.

That ev'n my buried ashes such a snare of vintage shall fling up into the air as not a true-believer passing by but shall be overtaken unaware.

The world will turn when we are earth As though we had not come nor gone; There was no lack before our birth, When we are gone there will be none.

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.

I sometimes think that never blows so red the Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; that every Hyacinth the Garden wears dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

Is it not folly, Spider-like to spin the Thread of present Life away to win-What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

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

People wear the dress showing off and we are in the grip of the palm of the judiciary and how much our smuggler possibly hope was all in vain endeavor.

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 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.

Those who have gone forth, thou cup-bearer, Have fallen upon the dust of pride, thou cup-bearer, Drink wine and hear from me the truth: (Hot) air is all that they have said, thou cup-bearer.

I took a test on the cheap from the market; told me what hidden secret, a ?AHDER, I said; I had the gold trophy; now what? I've been testing wine.

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.

O 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 bloomed forever dies.

Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, and lose your fingers in the tresses of the Cypress ? slender Minister of Wine.

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, but Here or There as strikes the Player goes; and He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all ? He knows ? HE knows!

The writing is life after death that he/it is going to sleep or drunkenness.

Thou hast said that Thou wilt torment me, But I shall fear not such a warning. For where Thou art, there can be no torment, And where Thou art not, how can such a place exist?

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

Author Picture
First Name
Omar
Last Name
Khayyám
Birth Date
1048
Death Date
1131
Bio

Persian Poet, Mathematician, Polymath and Astronomer who also wrote treatises on Mechanics, Geography, Mineralogy, Music, Climatology and Theology