Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSDo not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
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Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
It is love that I am seeking for, But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind That is not in the world.
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 -
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 -
Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
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 -
There is another world, but it is in this one.
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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.
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 -
If what I say resonates with you, it’s merely because we’re branches of the same tree.
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.
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What can be explained is not poetry.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS