Omar Khayyám Quotes

The moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it. — Omar Khayyam
...

Nor will I: ever write a word that fades in light, this I must be certain; else lay desolate at bight. <3

Where is an intimate
friend
who’ll hear the secret
from me straight out–
of what human beings
have been
from the moment they began?
They
are
born
of toil
and molded
from
the clay of sorrow.
They wander the world for a time,
then
set
off.

يا نفس ما هذا الأسى والكدر
قد وقع الإثم وضاع الحذر
هل ذاق حلو العفو إلا الذى
أذنب والله عفا واغتفر

Come, fill the Cup, in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing

When Allah created me, he knew that I
would drink a lot of wine. So if I didn't, the
omniscience of Allah would stand on its head.

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.

وما دامت الحياة بهذا القصر فعلامَ الألم ومثوانا التراب ومجلسنا على العشب الذى غذّته أوصال الغابرين، وأكوابنا من الطين الذى اختلطت فيه رءوس الملوك بأقدام السوقة؟

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou.

إذا سقاك الدهر كأس العذاب
فلا تبن الناس وقع المصاب

It is a shame for anyone
to be well-known for righteousness.
It is a great disgrace to feel
distress at the injustice of
the turning of the wheels of fate.

I hide my distress, just like
the blessed birds hide themselves
when they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and your
indifference to my sadness, my loved-one!

ای آمده از عالم روحانی تفت
حیران شده در چهار و پنج و شش و هفت
می خور چو ندانی ز کجا آمده ای
خوش باش ندانی به کجا خواهی رفت

Why was I born, when will I die?
Who can change the day of his birth,
who has a say in the day of his death?
Come, my beloved, I want to ask the spirit
of the wine to make me forget that we
shall never understand.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to it for help — for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

ماییم که اصل شادی و کان غمیم
سرمایه ی دادیم و نهاد ستمیم
پستیم و بلندیم و کمالیم و کمیم
آیینه ی زنگ خورده و جام جمیم