Ineluctable modality of the visible; at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read.

In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.

To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.

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.

White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.