It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.

O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.

I'll tickle his catastrophe.

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

He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life

It seems to me you do not care what banality a man expresses so long as he expresses it in Irish.

Time's ruins build eternity's mansions.