When I play on my fiddle in Dooney William Butler Yeats More Quotes by William Butler Yeats More Quotes From William Butler Yeats Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. William Butler Yeats passionatebloodfall 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. William Butler Yeats dreambeautifulretirement Only that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible. William Butler Yeats ethicscrydoe We must not make a false faith by hiding from our thoughts the causes of doubt, for faith is the highest achievement of the human intellect, the only gift man can make to God, and therefore it must be offered in sincerity. William Butler Yeats faithdoubtmen I have often had the fancy that there is some one Myth for every man, which, if we but knew it, would make us understand all he did and thought. William Butler Yeats mythfancymen I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness. They have all made what Dante calls the Great Refusal. The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth. William Butler Yeats hateearthpeople An intellectual hatred is the worst. William Butler Yeats social-justicehatredintellectual Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry. William Butler Yeats castsmindmay 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. William Butler Yeats fatehatefighting Life is a journey up a spiral staircase; as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up; as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive; we go both round and upward. William Butler Yeats progressjourneynumbers Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight. William Butler Yeats lovelydelightkind An Irish Airman foresees his Death 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, My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public man, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; 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. William Butler Yeats cheerlonelycountry 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 kissingmoonhands Man can embody truth but he cannot know it. William Butler Yeats truthknowsmen All through the years of our youth William Butler Yeats unityloversyears Mysticism has been in the past and probably ever will be one of the great powers of the world, and it is bad scholarship to pretend the contrary. You may argue against it but you should no more treat it with disrespect than a perfectly cultivated writer would treat (say) the Catholic Church or the Church of Luther no matter how much he disliked them. William Butler Yeats disrespectcatholicpast One had a lovely face, William Butler Yeats lovelypoetrytwo The chief imagination of Christendom, William Butler Yeats eyeimaginationmind Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart. William Butler Yeats ragsheartlying Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enameling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come. William Butler Yeats byzantiumnaturepast
