When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.

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.

He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.

I have the words already. What I am seeking is the perfect order of words in the sentence. You can see for yourself how many different ways they might be arranged.

Time's ruins build eternity's mansions.

Masturbation! The amazing availability of it!

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