My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.

White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!

Every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.

It seems to me you do not care what banality a man expresses so long as he expresses it in Irish.

Oh Ireland my first and only love Where Christ and Caesar are hand in glove!

I should tell you that honestly, on my honour of a Nearwicked, I always think in a wordworth's of that primed favourite continental poet, Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper, A.G., whom the generality admoyers in this that is and that this is to come.

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