I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
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.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
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 YEATS -
The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
I believe that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS