Quote

Gaze no more in the bitter glass The demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while.

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
Mirrors
Realism
Pass
Lift
Reality
Demon
Littles
Lifts
Little
Glass
Subtle
Guile
Glasses
Demons
Bitter
Gaze

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Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
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Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will be thinking about love til the stars run away and the shadows eaten the moon.
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The common breeds the common, A lout begets a lout, So when I take on half a score I knock their heads about.
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My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.
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The living can assist the imagination of the dead.
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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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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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I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.
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Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.
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Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won, Nor the best labourer dead And all the sheaves to bind.
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O sweet everlasting Voices, be still Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more.
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I say that Roger Casement Did what he had to do, He died upon the gallows But that is nothing new.
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Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything this day, Being old, but that the old alone might die, And that would be against God's Providence.
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I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain, And shook at Invar Amargin The hearts of the world-troubling seamen, And drove tumult and war away.
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I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.
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Speech after long silence it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead . . . That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom young We loved each other and were ignorant.
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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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What man does not understand, he fears and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
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Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
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This great purple butterfly, In the prison of my hands, Has a learning in his eye Not a poor fool understands.
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