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There where the course is, Delight makes all of the one mind, The riders upon the galloping horses, The crowd that closes in behind.
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
Mind
Delight
Galloping
Horse
Closes
Behinds
Riders
Behind
Horses
Courses
Racing
Course
Crowd
Upon
Excitement
Makes
Crowds
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide, Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam, And Usna's children died.
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Sweetheart, do not love too long: I loved long and long, And grew to be out of fashion Like an old song.
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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.
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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.
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Books are but waste paper unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought - asleep. When we are weary of the living, we may repair to the dead, who have nothing of peevishness, pride, or design in their conversation.
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I would have touched it like a child But knew my finger could but have touched Cold stone and water. I grew wild, Even accusing heaven because It had set down among its laws: Nothing that we love over-much Is ponderable to our touch.
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When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
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All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it
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A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon I hail the superhuman I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
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I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young / And weep because I know all things now.
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even The bed of love, that in the imagination Had seemed to be the giver of all peace, Is no more than a wine-cup in the tasting, And as soon finished.
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It is not permitted to a man, who takes up pen or chisel, to seek originality, for passion is his only business, and he cannot but mould or sing after a new fashion because no disaster is like another.
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Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
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In mockery I have set A powerful emblem up, And sing it rhyme upon rhyme In mockery of a time Half dead at the top.
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Maybe the bride-bed brings despair, For each an imagined image brings And finds a real image there...
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Thought is a garment and the soul's a bride That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide: Hatred of God may bring the soul to God.
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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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Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.
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What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident?
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