Omar Khayyam (Persian pronunciation: [xæjˈjɑːm]; عمر خیّام (Persian); 18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet.:7
Men talk of heaven, - there is no heaven but here; Men talk of hell, - there is no hell but here; Men of hereafters talk and future lives, - O love, there is no other life - but here.
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
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?
As far as you can avoid it, do not give grief to anyone. Never inflict your rage on another. If you hope for eternal rest, feel the pain yourself; but don’t hurt others.
The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.
Fools, your reward is neither here nor there.
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.
My friend, let's not think of tomorrow, but let's enjoy this fleeting moment of life.
If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?
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.
Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
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.
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.
When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.
Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;If only you were half so good as he!He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,Great-hearted mirth, and kind adultery. But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.
Ah Love! could you and I with him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire Would we not shatter it to bits-and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire?
Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.
Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.
Tomorrow! - Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.
Algebras are geometric facts which are proved.