Irish - Poet | June 13, 1865 - January 28, 1939
Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
William Butler Yeats
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Books are but waste paper unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought - asleep. When we are weary of the living, we may repair to the dead, who have nothing of peevishness, pride, or design in their conversation.
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To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school - women must labor to be beautiful.
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You know what the Englishman's idea of compromise is? He says, Some people say there is a God. Some people say there is no God. The truth probably lies somewhere between these two statements.
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In dreams begins responsibility.
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But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
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I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
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The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
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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.
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I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'
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Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.
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Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.
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