Quote

The Bishop has a skin, God knows, Wrinkled like the foot of a goose, (All find safety in the tomb.) Nor can he hide in holy black The heron's hunch upon his back, But a birch-tree stood my Jack.

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
Black
Skin
Geese
Herons
Back
Skins
Tombs
Birch
Find
Safety
Bishops
Hunch
Like
Holy
Jack
Wrinkled
Tree
Hypocrisy
Hunches
Feet
Stood
Goose
Humanity
Foot
Bishop
Upon
Hide
Tomb
Heron

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Only the dead can be forgiven But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.
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That beautiful mild woman for whose sake There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied, 'To be born a woman is to know- Although they do not talk of it at school - That we must labor to be beautiful.
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A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him up for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.
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Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
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All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man's or woman's body.
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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.
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We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936
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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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Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by
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A lonely impulse of delight
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The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
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Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.
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All the stream that's roaring by Came out of a needle's eye.
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The problem wiv some blokes is that wen they ain't drunk, they're sober.
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Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn, Come clear of the nets of wrong and right Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight, Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
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We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
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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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Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain- beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering.
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O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.
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