But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent.
William Butler YeatsI kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
William Butler YeatsYou that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.
William Butler Yeats