The Flower that once has blown forever dies.
Interpretation
Life is fleeting, and once we pass certain moments, they are permanently lost.
This quote by Omar Khayyam reflects the transient nature of life and beauty. It suggests that once a moment or event has occurred, it cannot be reclaimed, emphasizing the importance of appreciating the present and recognizing that life is impermanent.
In practice
During a graduation speech, one could use this quote to inspire students to cherish their time in school.
When you are so full of sorrow_x000D_ that you can't walk, can't cry anymore,_x000D_ think about the green foliage that sparkles after_x000D_ the rain. When the daylight exhausts you, when_x000D_ you hope a final night will cover the world,_x000D_ think about the awakening of a young child.
Oh! My beloved! fill the cup, that clears to-day of past regrets and future fears.
Itβs too bad if a heart lacks fire,_x000D_ and is deprived of the light _x000D_ of a heart ablaze._x000D_ The day on which you are_x000D_ without passionate love_x000D_ is the most wasted day of your life.
So when that Angel of the darker Drink, at last shall find you by the river-brink,_x000D_ _x000D_ And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul forth to your Lips to quaff-you shall not shrink.
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.
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.
It's your fiction that interests me. Your studies of the interplay of human motives and emotion.
It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.
Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone's control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.
A single sentence will suffice for modern man. He fornicated and read the papers. After that vigorous definition, the subject will be, if I may say so, exhausted.
One is almost tempted to say that the language itself is a mythology deprived of its vitality, a bloodless mythology so to speak, which has only preserved in a formal and abstract form what mythology contains in living and concrete form.
How can you do the right thing when you can't figure out what that is? When all you have before you are choices in various shades of wrong?
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