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 YEATSRose 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 YEATSThe worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSOnly that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSI cast my heart into my rhymes, That you, in the dim coming times, May know how my heart went with them After the red-rose-bordered hem.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThink where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThough leaves are many, the root is one.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSAny fool can fight a winning battle, but it needs character to fight a losing one, and that should inspire us; which reminds me that I dreamed the other night that I was being hanged, but was the life and soul of the party.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSYet they that know all things but know That all this life can give us is, A child’s laughter, a woman’s kiss.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThe best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSEverything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSBut I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSEverything in nature is resurrection.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSLove 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 YEATSTeaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSAll dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThe tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS