Myself I must remake.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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Myself I must remake.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
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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 -
Any 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 YEATS -
The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Everything in nature is resurrection.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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 -
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS