Quote by W.B. Yeats

“The host is rushing 'twixt day and night, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh…

— W.B. Yeats

“Oh, who could have foretold That the heart grows old?”

— W.B. Yeats

“For the good are always the merry, Save by an evil chance, And the merry love the fiddle, And the merry love to dance.”

— W.B. Yeats

“I spit upon the dancers painted by Degas. I spit upon their short bodies, their stiff stays, their toes whereupon they spin like peg-tops,…

— W.B. Yeats

“I had fallen into a profound dream-like reverie in which I heard him speaking as at a distance. 'And yet there is no one…

— W.B. Yeats

“Be you still, be you still, trembling heart; Remember the wisdom out of the old days: *Him who trembles before the flame and the…

— W.B. Yeats

“The Nineteenth Century And After Though the great song return no more There's keen delight in what we have: The rattle of pebbles on…

— W.B. Yeats

“What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident? And are there not moods which need heaven, hell,…

— W.B. Yeats

“Its quarrel is not with the past, but with the present, where its elders are so obviously powerful, and no cause seems lost if…

— W.B. Yeats

“On November Eve they are at their gloomiest, for according to the old Gaelic reckoning, this is the first night of winter. This night…

— W.B. Yeats

“... Those masterful images because complete Grew in pure mind, but out of what began? A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a…

— W.B. Yeats

“The portraits, of more historical than artistic interest, had gone; and tapestry, full of the blue and bronze of peacocks, fell over the doors,…

— W.B. Yeats