Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are... Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.

For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal.

Places remember events.

And Jesus was a Jew too. Your god. He was a Jew like me. And so was his father.

Deal with him, Hemingway!

and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.