If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.
Shut your eyes and see.
The only decent people I ever saw at the racecourse were horses.
What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours.
[A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.
By his monstrous way of life he seemed to have put himself beyond the limits of reality. Nothing moved him or spoke to him from the real world unless he heard it in an echo of the infuriated cries within him.