...though one can be callous in Ireland one cannot be wholly opaque or material. An unearthly disturbance works in the spirit; reason can never reconcile one to life; nothing allays the wants one cannot explain.

[My early stories] are the work of a living writer whom I know in a sense, but can never meet.

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.

Reason can never reconcile one to life: nothing allays the wants one cannot explain.

somehow at parties at which one stays standing up one seems to require to be more concentratedly intelligent than one does at those at which one can sit down.

There is no end to the violations committed by children on children, quietly talking alone.

Art is one thing that can go on mattering once it has stopped hurting.