“We had fed the heart on fantasies,The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmitiesThan in our love”

“Never give all the heart, for loveWill hardly seem worth thinking ofTo passionate women if it seemCertain, and they never dreamThat it fades out from kiss to kiss;For everything that's lovely isBut a brief, dreamy, kind delight.O Never give the heart outright,For they, for all smooth lips can say,Have given their hearts up to the play.And who could play it well enoughIf deaf and dumb and blind with love?He that made this knows all the cost,For he gave all his heart and lost.”

“Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.”

“We had fed the heart on fantasies. / The heart’s grown brutal from the fare.” From “Meditations in Time of Civil War,” 1923.W.B.Yeats”

“For he comes, the human child!To the waters and the wildWith a faery, hand in hand,From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.”

“Now days are dragon-ridden, the nightmare Rides upon sleep: a drunken soldiery Can leave the mother, murdered at her door,To crawl in her own blood, and go scott-free;The night can sweat with terror as beforeWe pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.”

“We all to some extent meet again and again the same people and certainly in some cases form a kind of family of two or three or more persons who come together life after life until all passionate relations are exhausted, the child of one life the husband, wife, brother, sister of the next. Sometimes, however, a single relationship will repeat itself, turning its revolving wheel again and again.”