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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
Road
Stay
Suffering
Whether
Live
Take
Upper
Men
Content
Lows
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Maybe the bride-bed brings despair, For each an imagined image brings And finds a real image there...
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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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The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy Of old the world on dreaming fed Gray Truth is now her painted toy.
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I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'
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I sat, a solitary man, In a crowded London shop, An open book and empty cup On the marble table-top. While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless.
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Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
William Butler Yeats
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
William Butler Yeats
Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?
William Butler Yeats
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
William Butler Yeats
I--though heart might find relief Did I become a Christian man and choose for my belief What seems most welcome in the tomb--play a predestined part. Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.
William Butler Yeats
You ask what I have found and far and wide I go, Nothing but Cromwell's house and Cromwell's murderous crew, The lovers and the dancers are beaten into the clay, And the tall men and the swordsmen and the horsemen where are they?
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Was it for this the wild geese spread The gray wing upon every tide For this that all that blood was shed, For this. Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave? Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
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Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
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yet it seems Life scarce can cast a fragrance on the wind, Scarce spread a glory to the morning beams, But the torn petals strew the garden plot And there's but common greenness after that.
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Test every work of intellect or faith, And everything that your own hands have wrought And call those works extravagance of breath That are not suited for such men as come Proud, open-eyed and laughing to the tomb.
William Butler Yeats
Locke sank into a swoon The Garden died God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.
William Butler Yeats
Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old?
William Butler Yeats
Where there is nothing, there is God.
William Butler Yeats
But bear in mind your lover's wage Is what your looking-glass can show, And that he will turn green with rage At all that is not pictured there.
William Butler Yeats
Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
William Butler Yeats
