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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.

William Butler Yeats

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William Butler Yeats
Age: 73 †
Born: 1865
Born: June 13
Died: 1939
Died: January 28
Astrologer
Mystic
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Writer
Scrooby
Nottinghamshire
W. B. Yeats
William Yeats
W.B. Yeats
Grow
Shall
Grows
Vino
Dies
Drank
Eye
Romantic
Comes
Mouth
Truth
Mouths
Love
Wine

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Shakespeare cared little for the State, the source of all our judgments, apart from its shows and splendours, its turmoils and battles, its flamings out of the uncivilized heart.
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I have often had the fancy that there is some one Myth for every man, which, if we but knew it, would make us understand all he did and thought.
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My soul had found All happiness in its own cause or ground. Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot Those amorous cries that out of quiet come And must the common round of day resume.
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All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it
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I believe... that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.
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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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Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit.
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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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For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
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I always think a great speaker convinces us not by force of reasoning, but because he is visibly enjoying the beliefs he wants us to accept.
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Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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Choose your companions from the best Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
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I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
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Now must we sing and sing the best we can, But first you must be told your character: Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain.
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My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
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Processions that lack high stilts have nothing that catches the eye. What if my great-granddad had a pair that were twenty foot high, And mine were but fifteen foot, no modern stalks upon higher, Some rogue of the world stole them to patch up a fence or a fire.
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What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.
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Death and life were not Till man made up the whole, Made lock, stock and barrel Out of his bitter soul
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I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
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