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O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.
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
Rascals
Rogues
Died
Fine
Worst
Thought
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.
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I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone.
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I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
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What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
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Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
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One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
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One had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain. Because the mountain grass Cannot keep the form Where the mountain hare has lain.
William Butler Yeats
Come near I would, before my time to go, Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
William Butler Yeats
Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
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I would that I were an old beggar Rolling a blind pearl eye, For he cannot see my lady Go gallivanting by.
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
William Butler Yeats
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick
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Man can embody truth but he cannot know it.
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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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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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Is it not certain that the Creator yawns in earthquake and thunder and other popular displays, but toils in rounding the delicate spiral of a shell? -Yeats, The Trembling of the Veil
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Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
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My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.
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How could passion run so deep Had I never thought That the crime of being born Blackens all our lot?
William Butler Yeats
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And river and stream work out their will.
William Butler Yeats
