If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
What do we know but that we face one another in this place?
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote highlights the shared human experience and the inevitability of our interactions with one another.
William Butler Yeats' quote prompts deep reflection on the nature of human existence, suggesting that despite the uncertainties of life, what remains constant is our engagement with each other in the present moment. It emphasizes the importance of relationships and connections that shape our understanding of ourselves and the world around us, reminding us that facing one another is an essential part of our journey through life.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about community, one might say, 'What do we know but that we face one another in this place?' to emphasize the importance of unity.
More from William Butler Yeats
All quotes βIt was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
Similar quotes
Communism is the death of the soul. It is the organization of total conformity - in short, of tyranny - and it is committed to making tyranny universal.
However, no two people see the external world in exactly the same way. To every separate person a thing is what he thinks it is - in other words, not a thing, but a think.
The Trinitarian Christ is elevated above us; the Unitarian Christ is merely a moral man; neither can help us. The Christ who is the Incarnation of God, who has not forgotten His divinity, that Christ can help us, in Him there is no imperfection.
Neither a Fortress nor a Maidenhead will hold out long after they begin to parley.
Sob, heavy world Sob as you spin, Mantled in mist Remote from the happy.
Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my blood? And who now owns my indecisions, my hands, my private pain, my pride?