Quotes by William Butler Yeats
The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
The ghost of Roger Casement is beating on the door.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
And say my glory was I had such friends.
Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
The creations of a great writer are little more than the moods and passions of his own heart, given surnames and Christian names, and sent to walk the earth.
I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.
Swift has sailed into his rest; savage indignation there cannot lacerate his breast. Imitate him if you dare, world-besotted traveller; he served human liberty.
Land of Heart's Desire, Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.
I have believed the best of every man. And find that to believe is enough to make a bad man show him at his best, or even a good man swings his lantern higher.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.
Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.
I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
My country is Kiltartan Cross; my countrymen Kiltartan's poor.
I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.
This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.
Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.
I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'
I am still of opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood - sex and the dead.
Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic's heart.
