Any 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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSHappiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.
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I broke my heart in two So hard I struck. What matter? for I know That out of rock, Out of a desolate source, Love leaps upon its course.
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Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.
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We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
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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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Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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I believe that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
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In dreams begins responsibility.
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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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Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
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When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance?
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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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The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
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One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
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From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
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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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There is another world, but it is in this one.
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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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And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
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What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
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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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Only that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.
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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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What can be explained is not poetry.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS