The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThe innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSWhat man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSOne man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSIt is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThere midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSTalent perceives differences; genius, unity.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSEvery 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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThough leaves are many, the root is one.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSTake, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSEcstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSGod guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSI 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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSNeither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSLove 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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSI heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSAnd a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS