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

A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.

The only decent people I ever saw at the racecourse were horses.

This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.

Places remember events.

I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me.