Omar Khayyam

I’m going to murder my grief               with a bottle                    of wine, and make myself a wealthy man              with                         a          […]

Those oceans of learning and culture           who burned with the light  of science in their day,                   never found an exit                              from this pitch-dark night. They delivered themselves […]

I wish there were a place to rest or that this long, long road would end; and that a hundred thousand years  from now, there were a hope that from  the earth we’d bloom to breathe again. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 442

The other day I passed a potter at  his wheel, displaying every moment a  new skill; and it occurred to me, though one less clear-eyed wouldn’t see it:  It is our ancestors’ clay in a potter’s  hands! Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 493

Wine-bibbing makes people         less full of themselves, and wine loosens even     cast-iron  shackles. If satan had only      tippled every night, he would not have been cast down           from heaven for his pride. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 313/ Arberry […]

A shame that bankruptcy has left us without capital in hand, and that so many hearts have been        left bleeding by the blade of fate. No one has come back from that world with word of vanished travelers. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 152/ Arberry 1949

Don’t give your body over to lamenting cruel destiny; Don’t dedicate your soul to grief at recollections of the dead. Don’t throw away your heart save on the locks of your beloved’s hair. Keep a full wine glass in your hand– don’t waste a minute of your life. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s […]

The elders and the newborns trace  the footsteps of each other, and it is the  way of this world that  no one can live forever here. They have departed and we’re on our way, and they arrive again, and go again. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, Arberry 1949, 5