But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler YeatsRead
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But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.
I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation.
A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.
The Irish are a fair people: They never speak well of one another.
There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.
If one could only teach the English how to talk, and the Irish how to listen, society here would be quite civilized.
When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.
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