If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
William Butler YeatsRead
Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
Interpretation
This quote reflects the journey of personal growth and the search for truth amidst external influences.
William Butler Yeats explores the idea that while a person may exhibit many different facets and experiences in their life (the leaves), there remains a singular essence or truth at the core (the root). The passage suggests that youthful exuberance and exploration often distract one from their deeper reality, but ultimately, with maturity, there is a return to a more authentic self.
In practice
This quote is perfect for a personal development workshop focused on self-discovery.
If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
It 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.
They change their skies, _x000D_ but not their souls _x000D_ who run across the sea.
Religions have always been clearly on to this psycho-therapeutic score. For hundreds of years in the West, Christian art had a very clear function: it was meant to direct us towards the good and wean us off vice.
I'm not sure what we're running from. Nobody. Or the future. Fate. Growing up. Getting old. Picking up the pieces. As if running we won't have to get on with our lives.
The people who are always hankering loudest for some golden yesteryear usually drive new cars.
What does it mean to be born? After we die, will it be the same thing as it was before we were born? Or a different kind of nothingness? Because there might be knowledge then. Memory.
The conflict that exists today is no more than an old-style struggle for power, once again presented to mankind in semireligious trappings. The difference is that, this time, the development of atomic power has imbued the struggle with a ghostly character; for both parties know and admit that, should the quarrel deteriorate into actual war, mankind is doomed.
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