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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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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
Breath
Squander
Make
Breaths
Lent
Thee
Bankrupt
Sorrow
Thine
Spend
Borrow
Morrow
Sure
Counting
Heaven
Hath
Another

More quotes by Omar Khayyam

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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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Heaven but the vision of fulfilled desire, and Hell the shadow from a soul on fire.
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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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There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.
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He who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere.
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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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You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.
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Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
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Drink! For you know not whence you came nor why.
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Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
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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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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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Tomorrow! - Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.
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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 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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Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
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The thoughtful soul to solitude retires.
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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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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 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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