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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.

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
Speak
Mines
Strong
Mine
Sense
Fool
Heart
Divine
Made
Fine
Like
Stars
Clay
Half
Fools
Evil
Surely

More quotes by Omar Khayyam

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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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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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Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum!
Omar Khayyam
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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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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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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.
Omar Khayyam
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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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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.
Omar Khayyam
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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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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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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.
Omar Khayyam
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The Flower that once has blown forever dies.
Omar Khayyam
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Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
Omar Khayyam
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A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
Omar Khayyam
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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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You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.
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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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Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
Omar Khayyam
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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!
Omar Khayyam