Wipe your glasses with what you know.

Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.

A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory.

History is that nightmare from which there is no awakening.

I am damnably sick of Italy, Italian and Italians, outrageously, illogically sick.... I hate to think that Italians ever did anything in the way of art.... What did they do but illustrate a page or so of the New Testament! They themselves think they have a monopoly in the line. I am dead tired of their bello and bellezza.

Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.

If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.