All women dote upon an idle man Although their children need a rich estate. No man has ever lived that had enough Of children’s gratitude or woman’s … - William Butler Yeats

When one gets quiet, then something wakes up inside one, something happy and quiet like the stars.

...
Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

For it is love that I am seeking for,
But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind
That is not in the world.