No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove.

Redheaded women buck like goats.

There was no doubt about it: if you wanted to succeed you had to go away. You could do nothing in Dublin.

He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.

British Beatitudes! ... Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops.

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

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.