The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.

Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.

Let my country die for me.

So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined.

Though their life was modest, they believed in eating well.

Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.

An Irishman needs three things : silence, cunnning, and exile.