Omar Khayyam — "Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why yo…"
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
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"For let us make our Fête of to-day, for to-morrow we are gone, and what we have enjoyed is gone, and we are gone, and gone is our memory too."
"For we are helpless pieces of the game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays."
"Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday, Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!"
"The moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on."
"Another and another Cup to drown The Memory of this Impertinence!"
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