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A line will take us hours maybe Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
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
Moment
Stitching
Moments
Naught
Thought
Pavement
Seems
Line
Doe
Seem
Take
Lines
Maybe
Hours
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The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart.
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I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain, And shook at Invar Amargin The hearts of the world-troubling seamen, And drove tumult and war away.
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And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew.
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Love comes in at the eye.
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I 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.
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It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
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And God, the herdsman, goads them on behind.
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O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.
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Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
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I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.
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We are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of Burke we are the people of Swift, the people of Emmet, the people of Parnell. We have created most of the modern literature of this country. We have created the best of its political intelligence.
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What portion in the world can the artist have, Who has awakened from the common dream, But dissipation and despair?
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It seems that I must bid the Muse to pack, / Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend / Until imagination, ear and eye, / Can be content with argument and deal / In abstract things or be derided by / A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
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Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.
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God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.
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A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
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I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
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