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Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

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
Heed
Distant
Cash
Credit
Take
Rumble
Drum

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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.
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To be free of belief and unbelief is my religion.
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Tomorrow! - Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.
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In monasteries, seminaries, retreats and synagogues, they fear hell and seek paradise. Those who know the mysteries of God never let that seed be planted in their souls.
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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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The Stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing-Oh, make haste!
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The rose that once has bloomed forever dies.
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Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.
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I can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain I have a secret that I cannot share.
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Whoever thinks algebra is a trick in obtaining unknowns has thought it in vain. No attention should be paid to the fact that algebra and geometry are different in appearance. Algebras (jabbre and maqabeleh) are geometric facts which are proved by propositions five and six of Book two of Elements.
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If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?
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The Flower that once has blown forever dies.
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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.
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Heaven but the vision of fulfilled desire, and Hell the shadow from a soul on fire.
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To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow Counting on morrows breedeth bankrupt sorrow: O squander not this breath that Heaven hath lent thee Make not too sure another breath to borrow.
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The thoughtful soul to solitude retires.
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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.
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The value of three things is justly appreciated by all classes of men: youth, by the old health, by the diseased and wealth, by the needy.
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There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.
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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.
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