memory is to love what the saucer is to the cup.
Fantasy is toxic: the private cruelty and the world war both have their start in the heated brain.
Raids are slightly constipating.
In 'real life' everything is diluted; in the novel everything is condensed.
Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting’s sake -- much as we relive, brood, and smoulder over our pasts.
Ireland is a great country to die or be married in.