Too long a sacrifice/ Can make a stone of the heart. -William Butler Yeats.

Nobody running at full speed has either a head or a heart.

The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away

Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?

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.

How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.