Culture

If the heart knew the secret of life as it really is, it would also know, in death, the divine mysteries. Since you know nothing of yourself today, what will you know tomorrow when you’re gone from yourself? Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 52

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. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 50

No one can pierce the veil of mystery. No one’s soul is aware  of this arrangement. Only in the heart of the black earth do we have a home. A shame this story isn’t short. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 47

Khayyam, why do you beat yourself up  over your lapses? What’s the profit or loss  in regret? Whoever hasn’t sinned can’t be forgiven. Forgiveness came  for sinning– why drown in remorse? Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 46

Man of the cloth, do me a favor. Take a deep beath and  do God’s work for us. We’re on the straight path, but you see crookedly. Go heal your eyes and leave us alone. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 4

Since things are not going  to work out the way we want, where will it get us to dwell on our struggles?– Except to sit around moping that we got here late and we’ll have to leave early. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 45

Fear of mortality and notions of nothingness are your own kind of drunkeness. Otherwise you’d see  that from the  branch of death twigs of immortality grow. Ever since Jesus breathed life into my soul, everlasting death has washed its hands of me. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 43

19 The day when I down shots one after one and with total delight become falling down drunk, I’ll work a hundred miracles on every front and from that fiery personality my words will flow like water Translated by Juan Cole From Whinfield 19

When I am sober, I don’t feel lighthearted; but when I’m drunk my reason is defective. There is a state  between being tipsy and clearheaded. I’m a slave to that state because that is life. Translated by Juan Cole from Whinfield 41