In the particular is contained the universal.

[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.

If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist. As it is, I am content torecognize myself an exile: and, prophetically, a repudiated one.

Ireland sober is Ireland stiff.

He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.

Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.

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