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But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.
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
Sadness
Place
Excrement
Nothing
Pitched
Whole
Mansion
Love
Mansions
Sad
Rent
Sole
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Love is based on inequality as friendship is on equality.
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Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.
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Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
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We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
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Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.
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The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.
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O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.
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Who mocks at music mocks at love.
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The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
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Before me floats an image, man or shade, / Shade more than man, more image than a shade.
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We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
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If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf
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Locke sank into a swoon The Garden died God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.
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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
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 innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
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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.
William Butler Yeats
Things said or done long years ago Or things I did not do or say But thought that I might say or do, Weigh me down, and not a day But something is recalled, My conscience or my vanity appalled.
William Butler Yeats
Choose your companions from the best Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
William Butler Yeats
