،لن يـرجـع المـقدار فيما حكـم وحـملك الهـم يزيد الألم ،ولو حزنـت العـمر لن ينمـحى ما خـطه فى اللوح مرُّ القلـم - Omar Khayyám

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, That stood along the floor and by the wall; And some loquacious Vessels were; and some Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

When you are so full of sorrow
that you can't walk, can't cry anymore,
think about the green foliage that sparkles after
the rain. When the daylight exhausts you, when
you hope a final night will cover the world,
think about the awakening of a young child.