Literature is always personal, always one man’s vision of the world, one man’s experience, and it can only be popular when men are ready to welcome the visions of others.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSRose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
More William Butler Yeats Quotes
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One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
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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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
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We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
All men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
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.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
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The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS -
From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS