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All men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.

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
Live
Take
Upper
Men
Content
Lows
Road
Stay
Suffering
Whether

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There are no strangers here Only friends you haven't yet met.
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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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All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will
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I have nothing but the embittered sun Banished heroic mother moon and vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years I must endure the timid sun.
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What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident?
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A lonely impulse of delight
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I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs, For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.
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I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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The falcon cannot hear the falconer
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It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
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We must not make a false faith by hiding from our thoughts the causes of doubt, for faith is the highest achievement of the human intellect, the only gift man can make to God, and therefore it must be offered in sincerity.
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A passion-driven exultant man sings out Sentences that he has never thought.
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Boughs have their fruit and blossom At all times of the year Rivers are running over With red beer and brown beer.
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The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
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Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.
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My soul had found All happiness in its own cause or ground. Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot Those amorous cries that out of quiet come And must the common round of day resume.
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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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One should not lose one's temper unless one is certain of getting more and more angry to the end.
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Man has created death.
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