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Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

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
Spring
Close
Scented
Youth
Youths
Sweet
Manuscript
Manuscripts
Vanish
Alas
Rose

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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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Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
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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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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.
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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.
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Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum!
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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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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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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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He who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere.
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To be free of belief and unbelief is my religion.
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If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?
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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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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?
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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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A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
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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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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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For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Played in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
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