And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.

If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.

Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.

Love is based on inequality as friendship is on equality.

Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.

So long as all is ordered for attack, and that alone, leaders will instinctively increase the number of enemies that they may give their followers something to do.

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.