True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.

The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.

For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.

Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.

On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!

I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.

John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought All that we did, all that we said or sang Must come from contact with the soil, from that Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.