Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by
The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
I have known more men destroyed by the desire to have wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots.
It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is
All men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.
Now as to magic. It is surely absurd to hold me "weak" or otherwise because I choose to persist in a study which I decided deliberately four or five years ago to make, next to my poetry, the most important pursuit of my life...If I had not made magic my constant study I could not have written a single word of my Blake book, nor would The Countess Kathleen have ever come to exist. The mystical life is the center of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass The demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while.
only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.
I know of the leafy paths that the witches take Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool, And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake.
Many times man lives and dies Betweeen his two eternities, That of race and that of soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. Whether man die in his bed Or the rifle knocks him dead
When two close kindred meet What better than call a dance?.
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
Because I helped to wind the clock, I come to hear it strike.
We must not make a false faith by hiding from our thoughts the causes of doubt, for faith is the highest achievement of the human intellect, the only gift man can make to God, and therefore it must be offered in sincerity.
To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school - women must labor to be beautiful.
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.
The only enemy of innocence and beauty is time.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'
In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
The poor have very few hours in which to enjoy themselves; they must take their pleasure raw; they haven't the time to cook it.
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