Not only is there no question of solitude, but in the long run we may not choose our company.

...there must be something she wanted; and that therefore she was no lady.

Sacrificers ... are not the ones to pity. The ones to pity are those that they sacrifice. Oh, the sacrificers, they get it both ways. A person knows themselves that they're able to do without.

Silences can be as different as sounds.

What is a novel? I say: an invented story. At the same time a story which, though invented has the power to ring true. True to what? True to life as the reader knows life to be or, it may be, feels life to be. And I mean the adult, the grown-up reader. Such a reader has outgrown fairy tales, and we do not want the fantastic and the impossible. So I say to you that a novel must stand up to the adult tests of reality.

Bring all your intelligence to bear on your beginning.

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