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

I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.

To discover the mode of life or of art whereby my spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.

He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter.

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

The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.

Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.