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O heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman'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
Peace
Knave
Woman
Knaves
Heart
Applause
Sake
Poet
Poetry
Opinion
Break
Dolt

More quotes by William Butler Yeats

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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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Chaunt in his ear delusions magical, That he may fight the horses of the sea. The Druids took them to their mystery, And chaunted for three days.
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There are no strangers here Only friends you haven't yet met.
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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
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No man, even though he be Shakespeare, can write perfectly when his web is woven of threads that have been spun in many lands.
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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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I know of the leafy paths that the witches take Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool, And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake.
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Everything in nature is resurrection.
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Man's life is thought, And he, despite his terror, cannot cease Ravening through century after century, Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come Into the desolation of reality.
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O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.
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Where the world ends The mind is made unchanging, for it finds Miracle, ecstasy, the impossible hope, The flagstone under all, the fire of fires, The roots of the world.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
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I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.
William Butler Yeats
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We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but half create.
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What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?
William Butler Yeats
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What can I but enumerate old themes?
William Butler Yeats
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Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
William Butler Yeats
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How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?
William Butler Yeats
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Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
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But I, being poor, have only my dreams I have spread my dreams under your feet Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats