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My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd. This Land of Saints, and then as the applause died out, Of plaster Saints his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
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
Stage
Applause
Land
Saints
Head
Crowd
Upon
Thrown
Plaster
Father
Crowds
Plasters
Beautiful
Rage
Abbey
Back
Saint
Raging
Died
Mischievous
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
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.
William Butler Yeats
A drunkard is a dead man And all dead men are drunk.
William Butler Yeats
One should not lose one's temper unless one is certain of getting more and more angry to the end.
William Butler Yeats
Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
William Butler Yeats
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.
William Butler Yeats
Time can but make her beauty over again.
William Butler Yeats
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
William Butler Yeats
My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics, Ere Time transfigured me.
William Butler Yeats
I had a chair at every hearth, When no one turned to see, With 'Look at that old fellow there, 'And who may he be?
William Butler Yeats
No man, even though he be Shakespeare, can write perfectly when his web is woven of threads that have been spun in many lands.
William Butler Yeats
Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
William Butler Yeats
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
Both nuns and mothers worship images, But those the candles light are not as those That animate a mother's reveries, But keep a marble or a bronze repose.
William Butler Yeats
Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
William Butler Yeats
Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
William Butler Yeats
Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit.
William Butler Yeats
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick
William Butler Yeats
Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.
William Butler Yeats
In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class.
William Butler Yeats
A lonely impulse of delight
William Butler Yeats
