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The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.
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
Away
Withered
Heart
Sad
Blows
Gates
Sadness
Blow
Lonely
Wind
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True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
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Shakespeare cared little for the State, the source of all our judgments, apart from its shows and splendours, its turmoils and battles, its flamings out of the uncivilized heart.
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There is no release In a bodkin or disease, Nor can there be a work so great As that which cleans man's dirty slate.
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By logic and reason we die hourly by imagination we live.
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Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit.
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The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.
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to be choked with hate May well be of all evil chances chief.
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There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
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Many ingenious lovely things are gone / That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude.
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The desire that is satisfied is not a great desire, nor has the shoulder used all its might that an unbreakable gate has never strained.
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If a powerful and benevolent spirit has shaped the destiny of this world, we can better discover that destiny from the words that have gathered up the heart's desire of the world, than from historical records, or from speculation, wherein the heart withers.
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People are responsible for their opinions, but Providence is responsible for their morals.
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I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
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When such as I cast out remorse So great a sweetness flows into the breast We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blessed.
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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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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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Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
William Butler Yeats
Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.
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Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried And fought with the invulnerable tide.
William Butler Yeats
