Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

Who mocks at music mocks at love.

I have read somewhere that in the Emperor's palace at Byzantium was a tree made of gold and silver, and artificial birds that sang.

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

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

Love comes in at the eye.

What do we know but that we face one another in this place?