As you are now so once were we.

There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid, and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalises itself, so to speak. The aesthetic image in the dramatic form is life purified in and reprojected from the human imagination. The mystery of aesthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.

I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.

I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.