Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.

The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.

Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.

Shaw's works make me admire the magnificent tolerance and broadmindedness of the english.

Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?

No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove.