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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

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Though pedantry denies, It's plain the Bible means That Solomon grew wise While talking with his queens.
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While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.
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True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
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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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Supreme art is a traditional statement of certain heroic and religious truth, passed on from age to age, modified by individual genius, but never abandoned.
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Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day.
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I am still of opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood - sex and the dead.
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The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
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The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away
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John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought All that we did, all that we said or sang Must come from contact with the soil, from that Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
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Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old?
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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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Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
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Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again! The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.
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How can we know the dancer from the dance?
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There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.
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How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?
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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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For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
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What man does not understand, he fears and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
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