William Butler Yeats Quotes

Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.

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There is no release In a bodkin or disease, Nor can there be a work so great As that which cleans man's dirty slate.

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A spot whereon the founders lived and died Seemed once more dear than life; ancestral trees, Or gardens rich in memory glorified Marriages, alliances, and families, And every bride's ambition satisfied.

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I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs, For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood; And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.

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Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.

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It's certain there are trout somewhere - And maybe I shall take a trout - but I do not seem to care.

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I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.

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An intellectual hate is the worst.

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O heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake.

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I thought it out this very day, Noon upon the clock, A man may put pretence away Who leans upon a stick, May sing, and sing until he drop, Whether to maid or hag.

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When a man grows old his joy Grows more deep day after day, His empty heart is full at length But he has need of all that strength Because of the increasing Night That opens her mystery and fright.

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A poet is a good citizen turned inside out.

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But stories that live longest Are sung above the glass, And Parnell loved his country And Parnell loved his lass.

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The chief imagination of Christendom, Dante Alighieri, so utterly found himself That he has made that hollow face of his More plain to the mind's eye than any face But that of Christ.

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Education is not filling

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You think it horrible that lust and rage Should dance attention upon my old age; They were not such a plague when I was young; What else have I to spur me into song?

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Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

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now I bring full-flavoured wine out of a barrel found Where seven Ephesian topers slept and never knew When Alexander's empire passed, they slept so sound.

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Because of something told under the famished horn Of the hunter's moon, that hung between the night and the day, To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dismay, Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.

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Myself I must remake.

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