A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote. A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your throat. So stay at home and drink your beer and let the neighbors vote.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSPeople who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.
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Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
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Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.
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I 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.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
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The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
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Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
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One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
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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.
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Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!
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Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
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There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.
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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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS