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Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.
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
Burn
Entire
Room
Rooms
Small
Faggots
Others
Combustible
May
Damp
World
Consume
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.
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I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.
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Things thought too long can be no longer thought, For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted out.
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On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!
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Education is not about filling a pail, it's about lighting a fire.
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I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young / And weep because I know all things now.
William Butler Yeats
O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.
William Butler Yeats
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
William Butler Yeats
Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
William Butler Yeats
Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
William Butler Yeats
O sweet everlasting Voices, be still Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more.
William Butler Yeats
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
William Butler Yeats
We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
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The desire that is satisfied is not a great desire, nor has the shoulder used all its might that an unbreakable gate has never strained.
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Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns, Amid the rustle of his planted hills, Life overflows without ambitious pains And rains down life until the basin spills, And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains As though to choose whatever shape it wills.
William Butler Yeats
I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
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A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
William Butler Yeats
I spit into the face of time that has transfigured me
William Butler Yeats
Labor is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul, Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil. O chestnut tree, great-rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance How can we know the dancer from the dance?
William Butler Yeats
What do we know but that we face one another in this place?
William Butler Yeats
