William Butler Yeats, 1865-1939. Irish writer who is considered among the greatest poets of the 20th century. A founder of the Irish National Theatre Company at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, he wrote many short plays, including The Countess Cathleen (1892). His poetry, published in collections such as The Winding Stair (1929), ranges from early love lyrics to the complex symbolist works of his later years. He won the 1923 Nobel Prize for literature.
Out of Ireland have we come, Great hatred, little room Maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb A fanatic's heart.
I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all . . . like an opera.
A pity beyond all telling Is hid in the heart of love.
It is most important that we should keep in this country a certain leisured class. . . . I am of the opinion of the ancient Jewish book which says there is no wisdom without leisure.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
Englishmen are babes in philosophy and so prefer faction-fighting to the labour of its unfamiliar thought.
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