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Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.

Omar Khayyam

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Omar Khayyam
Age: 83 †
Born: 1048
Born: May 15
Died: 1131
Died: December 4
Astrologer
Astronomer
Lyricist
Mathematician
Musician
Philosopher
Physicist
Poet
Writer
Neyshabur
Omar Khayyam
Hakim Omar Khayyám
Little
Life
Liquor
Dry
Cups
Fill
Awake
Ones
Littles

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You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house favored old barren reason from my bed, and took the daughter of the vine to spouse.
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He who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere.
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By the help of God and with His precious assistance, I say that Algebra is a scientific art. The objects with which it deals are absolute numbers and measurable quantities which, though themselves unknown, are related to things which are known, whereby the determination of the unknown quantities is possible.
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I hide my distress, just likethe blessed birds hide themselveswhen they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and yourindifference to my sadness, my loved-one!
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The rose that once has bloomed forever dies.
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Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the snake For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blackened - Man's forgiveness give and take!
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Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
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The Stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing-Oh, make haste!
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Why ponder thus the future to foresee, and jade thy brain to vain perplexity? Cast off thy care, leave Allah’s plans to him – He formed them all without consulting thee.
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Tomorrow! - Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.
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By Fate full many a heart has been undone, And many a sprightly rose made woe-begone Plume thee not on thy lusty youth and strength: Full many a bud is blasted ere its bloom.
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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.
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To be free of belief and unbelief is my religion.
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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.
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The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute.
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Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destin'd Hour and went his way.
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The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
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If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?
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The thoughtful soul to solitude retires.
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A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
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