When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.

... we have so many voices in us, how do we know which ones to obey?

... a country encapsulates our childhood and those lanes, byres, fields, flowers, insects, suns, moons and stars are forever reoccurring.

In our deepest moments we say the most inadequate things.

never forget this moment, the hum of the bee, the saffron threads of the flower, the drawn blinds, nature's assiduousness and human cruelty.

...people liking you or not liking you is an accident and is to do with them and not you. That goes for love too, only more so.

I knew I had done something awful. I had killed love, before I even knew the enormity of what love meant.