The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.

Education is not the filling of the pail, but, the lighting of the fire.

There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.

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.

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.

I have certainly known more men destroyed by the desire to have a wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots

No expectation fails there,No pleasing habit ends,No man grows old, no girl grows cold,But friends walk by friends.

May God be praised for womanThat gives up all her mind,A man may find in no mana friendship of her kind.

Time to put off the world and go somewhereAnd find my health again in the sea air,”Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,”And make my soul before my pate is bare.

Of conflicts with others we make retorica, of conflicts with ourselves poetry

I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all like an opera.

I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’

When such as I cast out remorseSo great a sweetness flows into the breastWe must laugh and we must sing,We are blest by everything,Everything we look upon is blest.

I hear the wind a blowI hear the grass a grow,And all that I know, I know.But I will not speak, I will run away.

In wise love each defines the secret self of the other, and refusing to believe in the mere daily self, creates a mirror where the lover or the beloved sees an image to copy in...

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

That is no country for old men. The youngIn one another’s arms, birds in the trees –Those dying generations — at their song.

No expectation fails there, No pleasing habit ends, No man grows old, no girl grows cold, But friends walk by friends.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.

A shudder in the loins engenders thereThe broken wall, the burning roof and towerAnd Agamemnon dead.

You think it horrible that lust and rageShould dance attendance upon my old age;They were not such a plague when I was young;What else have I to spur me into song?

Poor men have grown to be rich men,And rich men grown to be poor again,And I am running to Paradise.

Did that play of mine send outCertain men the English shot?

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.

When two close kindred meetWhat better than call a dance?

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions

Nor dread nor hope attendA dying animal;A man awaits his endDreading and hoping all.

He knows death to the bone –Man has created death.

Man can embody truth bet he cannot know it.

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...

Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother’s womb a fanatic heart.

Farewell — farewell,For I am weary of the weight of time.

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 heard the old, old, men say “all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters

Because of that great nobleness of hersThe fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,Burns but more clearly.

There’s more enterpriseIn walking naked.

If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity’s displayed: I’m looking for the face I...

The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.

How can we know the dancer from the dance?

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.

I sigh that kiss you,For I must ownThat I shall miss youWhen you have grown.

Half close your eyelids, loosen your hair,And dream about the great and their pride;They have spoken against you everywhere,But weigh this song with the great and their pride;I made it out of a mouthful of...

Irish poets, learn your trade,Sing whatever is well made.

Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will be thinking about love til the stars run away and the shadows eaten...

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.