Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.

One of the things I could never get accustomed to in my youth was the difference I found between life and literature.

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

Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.

Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying: — That is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy asked. — A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.