If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
William Butler YeatsRead
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick
Interpretation
The quote reflects on aging and the loss of vitality and substance over time.
In this quote, William Butler Yeats uses vivid imagery to convey the idea that an elderly person can appear insignificant and worn out, much like a tattered coat draped over a stick. It suggests that as one ages, the richness of life and the vibrancy of youth diminish, leading to feelings of fragility and a loss of identity.
In practice
In a speech about the value of experience and remembering history, this quote serves as a poignant reminder of the passage of time.
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.
[Humans'] capacity to intervene, to compare, to judge, to decide, to choose, to desist makes them capable of acts of greatness, of dignity, and, at the same time, of the unthinkable in terms of indignity.
Buddha means awareness, the awareness of body and mind that prevents evil from arising in either.
We can neither heal nor build if, on the one hand the rich in our society see the poor as hordes of irritants or if on the other hand the poor sit back, expecting charity. All of us must take responsibility for the upliftment of our conditions, prepared to give our best to the benefit of all
Where hunters and woodcutters once slept in their boots by the dying light of their thousand fires and went on, old teutonic forebears with eyes incandesced by the visionary light of a massive rapacity, wave on wave of the violent and the insane, their brains stoked with spoorless analogues of all that was, lean aryans with their abrogate Semitic chapbook reenacting the dramas and parable therein.
No mother would ever willingly sacrifice her sons for territorial gain, for economic advantage, for ideology.
You'll never have a quiet world till you knock the patriotism out of the human race.
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