Quote

Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat upon the wall Till Truth obeyed his call.

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
Beat
Remake
Beats
Blake
Wall
Remakes
Call
Frenzy
Upon
William
Truth
Grant
Must
Grants
Obeyed
Men
Till
Lear

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Man has created death.
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Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.
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Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried And fought with the invulnerable tide.
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Man's life is thought, And he, despite his terror, cannot cease Ravening through century after century, Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come Into the desolation of reality.
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Gaze no more in the bitter glass The demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while.
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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.
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We are fastened to a dying animal.
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The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.
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That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations-at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.
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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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Designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors on national taste.
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An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick
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And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
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What were all the world's alarms To mighty Paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed That first dawn in Helen's arms?
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Once you attempt legislation upon religious grounds, you open the way for every kind of intolerance and religious persecution.
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What if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There's better exercise In the sunlight and wind.
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Nor seek, for this is also sooth, To hunger fiercely after truth, Lest all thy toiling only breeds New dreams, new dreams there is no truth Saving in thine own heart.
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My curse on plays That have to be set up in fifty ways, On the day's war with every knave and dolt, Theater business, management of men.
William Butler Yeats
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But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.
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Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
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