A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.
Fairies in Ireland are sometimes as big as we are, sometimes bigger, and sometimes, as I have been told, about three feet high.
An intellectual hate is the worst.
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic's heart.
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.