Quote

All art is in the last analysis an endeavor to condense as out of the flying vapor of the world an image of human perfection, and for its own and not for the art's sake.

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
World
Image
Perfection
Sake
Lasts
Condense
Last
Vapor
Art
Endeavor
Human
Analysis
Humans
Flying

More quotes by William Butler Yeats

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I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.
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Things fall apart the center cannot hold.
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What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead?
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I thought it out this very day, Noon upon the clock, A man may put pretence away Who leans upon a stick, May sing, and sing until he drop, Whether to maid or hag.
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Civilisation is hooped together, brought Under a rule, under the semblance of peace By manifold illusion.
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Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
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The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.
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The unpurged images of day recede The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.
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If soul my look and body touch, Which is the more blest?
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For what but eye and ear silence the mind With the minute particulars of mankind?
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His element is so fine Being sharpened by his death, To drink from the wine-breath While our gross palates drink from the whole wine.
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but one loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss perhaps.
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I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind, I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had, But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland caught the wind I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went mad.
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O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.
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We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.
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We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
William Butler Yeats
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now I bring full-flavoured wine out of a barrel found Where seven Ephesian topers slept and never knew When Alexander's empire passed, they slept so sound.
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Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
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Only the dead can be forgiven But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.
William Butler Yeats
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While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof, His Morning and his Night disclose How sinew that has been pulled tight, Or it may be loosened in repose, Can rule by supernatural right Yet be but sinew.
William Butler Yeats