The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime.

I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.

Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time.

Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.