Silence sat in the taxi, as though a stranger had got in.

Everything is very quiet, the streets are never crowded, and the people one dislikes are out of town.

... any fictionis bound to be transposed autobiography.

Where would the Irish be without someone to be Irish at?

Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.

I pity people who do not care for Society. They are poorer for the oblation they do not make.

Spoilt pleasure is a sad, unseemly thing; you can only bury it.