Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
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.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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Yet they that know all things but know That all this life can give us is, A child’s laughter, a woman’s kiss.
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Everything in nature is resurrection.
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Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
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When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance?
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Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
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Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
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The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
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By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.
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We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
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All men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.
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It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is.
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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
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Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.
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Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
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I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.
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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.
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All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right.
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What can be explained is not poetry.
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The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
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I believe that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
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Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary.
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Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
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The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS