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Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.
---William Butler Yeats
The eye--it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against or with our will.
---William Wordsworth, Lyrical Ballads
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is lost
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with passionate intensity.
---W.B. Yeats
Only the young can be alone freely. The time is shorter now for company, And sitting by a lamp more often brings Not peace, but other things.
----Philip Larkin
One loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams; one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss perhaps.
---W.B. Yeats
When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign, is Solitude
----William Wordsworth
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
---William Butler Yeats
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am.
---Philip Larkin, Collected Poems
Everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
---William Butler Yeats, Poems
O happy things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gished from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner