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But bear in mind your lover's wage Is what your looking-glass can show, And that he will turn green with rage At all that is not pictured there.
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
Turns
Glasses
Show
Bear
Shows
Lovers
Pictured
Mind
Bears
Wage
Green
Jealousy
Turn
Lover
Beauty
Glass
Looking
Rage
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
A poet is a good citizen turned inside out.
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And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.
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Because this age and the next age Engender in the ditch, No man can know a happy man From any passing wretch, If Folly link with Elegance No man knows which is which.
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Once you attempt legislation upon religious grounds, you open the way for every kind of intolerance and religious persecution.
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Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days.
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The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.
William Butler Yeats
A line will take us hours maybe Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
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Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.
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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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The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
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The Muse is mute when public men Applaud a modern throne.
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I would have touched it like a child But knew my finger could but have touched Cold stone and water. I grew wild, Even accusing heaven because It had set down among its laws: Nothing that we love over-much Is ponderable to our touch.
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There are a few of the open-air spirits the more domestic of their tribe gather within-doors, plentiful as swallows under southern eaves.
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I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.
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What can be explained is not poetry.
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Time can but make it easier to be wise / Though now it seems impossible, and so / All that you need is patience.
William Butler Yeats
All things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman's face, or worse-- The seeming needs of my fool-driven land Now nothing but comes readier to the hand Than this accustomed toil.
William Butler Yeats
Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot but make it hot by striking.
William Butler Yeats
Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's best of all: And after that there's nothing good Because the spring time has not come- Not know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.
William Butler Yeats
