William Butler Yeats Quotes

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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Mock mockers after that That would not lift a hand maybe To help good, wise or great To bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery.

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The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart.

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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.

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People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

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It is not permitted to a man, who takes up pen or chisel, to seek originality, for passion is his only business, and he cannot but mould or sing after a new fashion because no disaster is like another.

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O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

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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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Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

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Where the world ends The mind is made unchanging, for it finds Miracle, ecstasy, the impossible hope, The flagstone under all, the fire of fires, The roots of the world.

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What can be shown? What true love be? All could be known or shown If Time were but gone.

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Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. . . .

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Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

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Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

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He only can create the greatest imaginable beauty who has endured all imaginable pangs, for only when we have seen and foreseen what we dread shall we be rewarded by that dazzling unforeseen wing-footed wanderer.

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Books are but waste paper unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought - asleep. When we are weary of the living, we may repair to the dead, who have nothing of peevishness, pride, or design in their conversation.

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Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's best of all: And after that there's nothing good Because the spring time has not come- Not know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.

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All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.

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Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.

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The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day; For half his flock were in their beds, Or under green sods lay.

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