The child lives in the book; but just as much the book lives in the child.
Ireland is a great country to die or be married in.
Meetings that do not come off keep a character of their own. They stay as they were projected.
Memory must be patchy; what is more alarming is its face-savingness. Something in one shrinks from catching it out - unique to oneself, one's own, one's claim to identity, it implicates one's identity in its fibbing.
Autumn arrives in the early morning.
Don't you understand that all language is dead currency? How they keep on playing shop with it all the same.