Quote

But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love Of solitary beds, knew what they were, That passion could bring character enough And pressed at midnighht in some public place Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.

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
Upon
Boys
Measured
Girl
Bring
Imagined
Place
Knew
Pale
Character
Imagination
Solitary
Live
Public
Bed
Enough
Passion
Lips
Plummet
Love
Face
Girls
Beds
Faces
Youth
Pressed

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I have believed the best of every man. And find that to believe is enough to make a bad man show him at his best, or even a good man swings his lantern higher.
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Though pedantry denies, It's plain the Bible means That Solomon grew wise While talking with his queens.
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It seems to me that true love is a discipline.
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There are no strangers here Only friends you haven't yet met.
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For those that love the world serve it in action, Grow rich, popular, and full of influence And should they paint or write still is it action, The struggle of the fly in marmalade.
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When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.
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Because the priest must have like every dog his day Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon, We and our dolls being but the world were best away.
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When all is said and done, how do we know but that our own unreason may be better than another's truth? for it has been warmed on our hearths and in our souls, and is ready for the wild bees of truth to hive in it, and make their sweet honey.
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Cats are oppressed, dogs terrify them, landladies starve them, boys stone them, everybody speaks of them with contempt. If they were human beings we could talk of their oppressors with a studied violence, add our strength to theirs, even organize the oppressed and like good politicians sell our charity for power.
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O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.
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Poetry and music I have banished, But the stupidity Of root, shoot, blossom or clay Makes no demand. I bend my body to the spade Or grope with a dirty hand.
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Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love in the end.
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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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Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man Delight becomes death-longing if all longing else be vain.
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Civilisation is hooped together, brought Under a rule, under the semblance of peace By manifold illusion.
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And God, the herdsman, goads them on behind.
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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
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The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.
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The poor have very few hours in which to enjoy themselves they must take their pleasure raw they haven't the time to cook it.
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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.
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