An Irishman needs three things : silence, cunnning, and exile.

A man's errors are his portals of discovery.

Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.

Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

When I heard the word ''stream'' uttered with such a revolting primness, what I think of is urine and not the contemporary novel. And besides, it isn't new, it is far from the dernier cri. Shakespeare used it continually, much too much in my opinion, and there's Tristam Shandy, not to mention the "Agamemnon."

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