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All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right.

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
Right
Awake
Never
Till
Question
Answers
Lying
Turns
Recollection
Night
Questioning
Done
Ill

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The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
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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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The poor have very few hours in which to enjoy themselves they must take their pleasure raw they haven't the time to cook it.
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Come near I would, before my time to go, Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
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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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Supreme art is a traditional statement of certain heroic and religious truth, passed on from age to age, modified by individual genius, but never abandoned.
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A drunkard is a dead man And all dead men are drunk.
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What can be explained is not poetry.
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Bid imagination run / Much on the Great Questioner / What He can question, what if questioned I / Can with a fitting confidence reply.
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We are fastened to a dying animal.
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Is it not certain that the Creator yawns in earthquake and thunder and other popular displays, but toils in rounding the delicate spiral of a shell? -Yeats, The Trembling of the Veil
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The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.
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Talent perceives differences genius, unity.
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For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
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We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
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Everything we look upon is blest.
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We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.
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Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And river and stream work out their will.
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for never yet Has lover lived, but longed to wive Like them that are no more alive.
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Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.
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