Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it

Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.

God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone.

From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged / In rambling talk with an image of air: / Vague memories, nothing but memories.