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It takes more courage to dig deep in the dark corners of your own soul and the back alleys of your society than it does for a soldier to fight on the battlefield.

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
Fighting
Battlefields
Society
Corners
Doe
Soldier
Back
Deep
Soul
Courage
Fight
Takes
Alleys
Dark
Battlefield

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The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
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The blessed spirits must be sought within the self which is common to all
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I thought of rhyme alone, For rhyme can beat a measure out of trouble And make the daylight sweet once more.
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When two close kindred meet What better than call a dance?.
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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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But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
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There is only one romance the Soul's.
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Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.
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What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
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Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
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The Muse is mute when public men Applaud a modern throne.
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Shakespearean fish swam the sea, far away from land Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand.
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Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enameling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
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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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Literature is always personal, always one man's vision of the world, one man's experience, and it can only be popular when men are ready to welcome the visions of others.
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And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
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For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.
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