No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair? My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?
Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another’s soul.
If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.
I think a child should be allowed to take his father’s or mother’s name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction.
How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling, ever unanswered and the dark rain falling.
Every age must look for its sanction to its poetry and philosophy, for in these the human mind, as it looks backward or forward, attains to an eternal state.
Does nobody understand?
Civilisation may be said indeed to be the creation of its outlaws but the least protest against the existing order is made by the outlaws whose creed and manner of life is not renewable even so far as to be reactionary.
