William Butler Yeats Quotes

Even the wisest man grows tense With some sort of violence Before he can accomplish fate, Know his work or choose his mate. Poet and sculptor, do the work, Nor let the modish painter shirk

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Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!

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All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.

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Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

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Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.

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We can only begin to live when we conceive life as Tragedy.

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Was it for this the wild geese spread The gray wing upon every tide; For this that all that blood was shed, For this. Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave? Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.

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I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

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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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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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Now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.

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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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The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart.

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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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Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

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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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Love comes in at the eye.

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Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.

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All the stream that's roaring by Came out of a needle's eye.

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