writers do not find subjects: subjects find them. There is not so much a search as a state of open susceptibility.

Every love has a poetic relevance of its own; each love brings to light only what to it is relevant. Outside lies the junk-yard of what does not matter.

Ireland is a great country to die or be married in.

Habit, of which passion must be wary, may all the same be the sweetest part of love.

With three or more people there is something bold in the air: direct things get said which would frighten two people alone and conscious of each inch of their nearness to one another. To be three is to be in public - you feel safe.

Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

Habit is not mere subjugation, it is a tender tie; when one remembers habit it seems to have been happiness.