There is another world, but it is in this one.
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met.
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Love comes in at the eye.
Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by
Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.
In dreams begins responsibility.
What can be explained is not poetry.
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
In life courtesy and self-possession, and in the arts style, are the sensible impressions of the free mind, for both arise out of a deliberate shaping of all things and from never being swept away, whatever the emotion into confusion or dullness.
Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.
My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. . . . I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance - the revolt of the soul against the intellect.
I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.
Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say. Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; The second best's a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.
I had still the ambition, formed in Sligo in my teens, of living in imitation of Thoreau on Innisfree, a little island in Lough Gill, and when walking through Fleet Street very homesick I heard a little tinkle of water and saw a fountain in a shop window which balanced a little ball upon its jet, and began to remember lake water. From the sudden remembrance came my poem Innisfree.
On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
My wretched dragon is perplexed.
The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
The intellect of man is forced to choose Perfection of the life, or of the work And if it take the second must refuse A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: