Culture

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

What’s with your supposed zodiac, then, that it is so helpful to the nasty? It bestows on them palatial baths, and  mill works,  and long walkways to their mansions– while the honorable  have to pawn everything to earn their nightly bread crust. Who would give a fart for  such a constellation? Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, […]

For a hand like mine,  which always grips a wine glass, it would be a shame  to put scripture or a rosary in it. You’re a dry ascetic,  and I’m a soused rascal,  but don’t worry– I’m too well watered to burn in hell. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 170

In this life, all those who have  half a piece of bread and a resting place  in which to nest; who are neither servants nor masters of others– let them rejoice, for their world is a happy one. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 168