We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSIt takes more courage to dig deep in the dark corners of your own soul and the back alleys of your society than it does for a soldier to fight on the battlefield.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
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In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
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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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Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.
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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.
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Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
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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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It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
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The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
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Everything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
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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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An intellectual hate is the worst.
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Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.
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Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
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Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
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Everything in nature is resurrection.
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If what I say resonates with you, it’s merely because we’re branches of the same tree.
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There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
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I’m looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
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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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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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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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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
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Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.
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The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS