Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.

When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.

(...) You cruel creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.

He comes into the world God knows how, walks on the water, gets out of his grave and goes up off the Hill of Howth. What drivel is this?

I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.

[A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.

What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?