Quotes from William Butler Yeats

Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit.

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.

But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many changing things In dreary dancing past us whirled, To the cracked tune that Chronos sings, Words alone are certain good.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I know that I shall meet my fate somewhere among the clouds above; those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love.

Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.

An intellectual hatred is the worst.

Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?

And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.

Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing. Prove that I lie.

Once you attempt legislation upon religious grounds, you open the way for every kind of intolerance and religious persecution.

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!

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

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.

Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.

If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.

The Bishop has a skin, God knows, Wrinkled like the foot of a goose, (All find safety in the tomb.) Nor can he hide in holy black The heron's hunch upon his back, But a birch-tree stood my Jack.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.