W. B. Yeats

A line will take us hours may be; Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, our stitching and unstitching has been nought.

W. B. Yeats

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

W. B. Yeats

Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.

W. B. Yeats

Ah, you may tell the girls that they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was thought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You’ll see me no more.

W. B. Yeats

All art is in the last analysis an endeavor to condense as out of the flying vapor of the world an image of human perfection, and for its own and not for the art’s sake.

W. B. Yeats

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

W. B. Yeats

All that I have said and done, now that I am old and ill, turns into a question till I lie awake night after night and never get the answers right.

W. B. Yeats

All that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.

W. B. Yeats

All through the years of our youth neither could have known their own thought from the other’s, we were so much at one.

W. B. Yeats

Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.

W. B. Yeats