only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSGod guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Everything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
I have observed dreams and visions very carefully, and am now certain that the imagination has some way of lighting on the truth that the reason has not, and that its commandments, delivered when the body is still and the reason silent, are the most binding we can ever know.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Hammer your thoughts into unity.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance – the revolt of the soul against the intellect.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Though leaves are many, the root is one.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS