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How could passion run so deep Had I never thought That the crime of being born Blackens all our lot?
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
Crime
Deep
Mankind
Passion
Born
Running
Thought
Never
Sin
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
While on that old grey stone I sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate phantasy.
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The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.
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It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
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Locke sank into a swoon The Garden died God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.
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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing. Prove that I lie.
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Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.
William Butler Yeats
And if joy were not on the earth, There were an end of change and birth, And Earth and Heaven and Hell would die, And in some gloomy barrow lie Folded like a frozen fly.
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The friends that have it I do wrong Whenever I remake a song, Should know what issue is at stake: It is myself that I remake.
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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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Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
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All through the years of our youth Neither could have known Their own thought from the other's, We were so much at one.
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I have read somewhere that in the Emperor's palace at Byzantium was a tree made of gold and silver, and artificial birds that sang.
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I agree about Shaw - he is haunted by the mystery he flouts. He is an atheist who trembles in the haunted corridor.
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What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?
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Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.
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The labor of the alchemists, who were called artist in their day, is a befitting comparison for a deliberate change of style.
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There's keen delight in what we have: The rattle of pebbles on the shore Under the receding wave.
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Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
William Butler Yeats
