1,059 Quotes by William Butler Yeats

A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade, Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out. It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad.

O heart, we are old; The living beauty is for younger men: We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.

I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man’s attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.

O heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What’s not for their applause, Being for a woman’s sake.

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

My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd. “This Land of Saints,” and then as the applause died out, “Of plaster Saints;” his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with merry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet in the night; The shaking of its leafy head.

Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by.

All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven’s will.