This is life eternal: Be happy for this moment; this moment is your life.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water blows.

Of wisdom’s dictates two are principal,
Surpassing all your lore traditional;
Better to fast than eat of every meat.
Better to live alone than mate with all!

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.

My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.

Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, “Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul return’d to me,
And answer’d “I Myself am Heav’n and Hell:

Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! One thing at least is certain—This Life flies; One thing is certain and the rest is

We are in truth but pieces on this chess board of life,which in the end we leave,only to drop one by one into the grave of nothingness.

Why do you sell your wine, merchant?
What can they give you in exchange for your wine? Money? … And what can money give you? Power? … Aren’t you the owner of the world when you are holding a drink? Is anyone richer than you, who have gold in your cup, Rubies, Pearls, Dreams, and Love? Don’t you feel the blood burning in your veins when the cup kisses your lips.

We come into this world in the waters and leave it in the winds

One can no more set fire to the sea,
than convince people of the dangers of happiness – And yet, we know that though the smallest shock is fatal
to the filled up bottle, that shock will not break
the empty one.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahrám, that great Hunter–the Wild Ass
Stamps o’er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win-
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

Empty orators and silent scholars
died without having understood Being and non-Being.
Ignorants, my brothers, let us continue tasting
the juice of the grape attentively and let
the authorities satisfy themselves
with dry raisins.

Know yourself as a snowdrift on the sand Heaped for two days, or three, then thawed and gone. (c.1050-c.1123)

God, you have paved our path
with a thousand invisible stumbling stones
and you have said: woe betide those that stumble!
You see all and you know all. Nothing happens without
your consent, so how can you hold us responsible for
our failures? Can you blame me
that I object to this?

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is it not a Shame–is it not a Shame for him
So long in this Clay suburb to abide!

I see a horseman disappearing into
the evening mist. Will he travel through woods
or across wild plains? Where is he heading? I don’t know.
Tomorrow, will I be stretched out above or
below the earth? I don’t know.

For in and out, above, about, below, ‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

Whether at Naishápúr or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

The scent of wine rising
from my grave will be so strong
that it will intoxicate passers-by.
There will be such an atmosphere of serenity
that couples in love will find it impossible
to tear themselves away.

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears —
To-morrow? — Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years.

We shall perish
along the path of Love.
Fate will trample us. Yeah, tempting
young woman, get up and give me your lips
before I return to dust.

Every particle of dust on a patch of earth
Was a sun-cheek or brow of the morning star;
Shake the dust off your sleeve carefully–
That too was a delicate, fair face.

Heaven has not learned of my arrival, and my departure will not in the least diminish it beauty and grandeur. I will sleep underground, for us ephemeral mortals, the only eternity is the moment and drinking to the moment is better than weeping for it.

I disapprove of the vain and the religious.
Who can affirm whether you will go to Heaven
or Hell? Besides, what do those words mean? Do you
know any traveler who has been there?

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

You say some Greek philosophers could dazzle their audiences
with their riddles? That does not interest me at all. Bring
more wine instead and play your lute; your changes in tones
remind me of the wind that rushes past and disappears,
just like us.

The moving hand once having writ moves on. Nor all thy piety nor wit can lure it back to cancel half a line.

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

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

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.

Yesterday This Day’s Madness did prepare; To-morrow’s Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

Tis but a day we sojourn here below, And all the gain we get is grief and woe, Then, leaving our life’s riddles all unsolved, And burdened with regrets, we have to go.

Don’t pursue happiness! Life is as short as a sigh. The dust of people that were once famous turn with the reddish clay on the wheel you are looking at. The universe is a fata morgana; life is a dream.

You’ve seen the world, and all you’ve seen is nothing; and everything, as well, that you have said and heard is nothing. You’ve sprinted everywhere between here and the horizon; it is nothing. And all the possessions you’ve treasured up at home are nothing.

From the house of unbelief to true religion is a single breath; From the world of doubt to certainty is a single breath; Enjoy this precious single breath, for the harvest of our whole lives is that same one breath.

To all of us the thought of heaven is dear —
Why not be sure of it and make it here?
No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,
But ’tis so far away — and you are near.

The rose that once has bloomed forever dies.

When you have planted
the rose of Love into your heart
your life has not been in vain.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and days
Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates,and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays.

There was a Door to which I found no Key
There was a Veil past which I could not see
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seemed–and then no more of THEE and ME.

I have not asked for life.
But I try to accept whatever
life brings without surprise.
And I shall depart again without having
questioned anyone about my strange
stay here on earth.

There are too many tears in my eyes!
The fires of Hell are no more than sparks of fire
as compared to the flames that consume me inside.
Paradise? For me it means
a moment of peace.

I can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner; I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly; I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain; I have a secret that I cannot share.

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits — and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav’n,
and strikes
The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes–or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face Lighting a little Hour or two–is gone.

When your soul and mine have left our bodies and we are burried alongside each other, a Potter may one day mould the dust of both of us into the same clay.

When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.

Scholars really have nothing to teach you.
But from the soft touch of the eyelashes of
a woman you will know all there is to know about happiness.

Why ponder thus the future to foresee, and jade thy brain to vain perplexity? Cast off thy care, leave Allah’s plans to him – He formed them all without consulting thee.” Three Cups of Tea

Today is the time of my youth I drink wine because it is my solace; Do not blame me, although it is bitter it is pleasant, It is bitter because it is my life.

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse – and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness – And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

There was a water-drop, it joined the sea,
A speck of dust, it was fused with earth;
what of your entering and leaving this world?
A fly appeared, and disappeared.

So I be written in the Book of Love. I do not care about that Book Above. Erase my name, or write it as you will. So I be written in the Book of Love.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and–sans End! Alike for those who for To-day prepare, And those that after some To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
“Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.

O friend, for the morrow let us not worry
This moment we have now, let us not hurry
When our time comes, we shall not tarry
With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry

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.

Poor soul, you will never know anything
of real importance. You will not uncover
even one of life’s secrets. Although all religions
promise paradise, take care to create your own
paradise here and now on earth.

Realise this: one day your soul
will depart from your body and you will
be drawn behind the curtain that floats between us
and the unknown. While you wait for that moment, be happy,
because you don’t know where you came from and
you don’t know where you will be going.

A book of verses underneath the bough A flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou Beside me singing in the wilderness And wilderness is paradise now.

This world that was our home for a brief spell never brought us anything but pain and grief; its a shame that not one of our problems was ever solved. We depart with a thousand regrets in our hearts.

Drink wine and look at the moon
and think of all the civilisations
the moon has seen passing by.

Beyond the earth,
beyond the farthest skies
I try to find Heaven and Hell.
Then I hear a solemn voice that says:
“Heaven and hell are inside.

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?

Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.

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.

And do you think that unto such as you
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew
God gave a secret, and denied it me?
Well, well—what matters it? Believe that, too!

Your hand can seize today, but not tomorrow; and thoughts of your tomorrow are nothing but desire. Don’t waste this breath, if your heart isn’t crazy, since “the rest of your life” won’t last forever.

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.

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain – This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies –
The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

To wisely live your life, you don’t need to know much
Just remember two main rules for the beginning:
You better starve, than eat whatever
And better be alone, than with whoever.

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.

Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.