In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation.

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

There is not past, no future; everything flows in an eternal present.

It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.

and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

A nation is the same people living in the same place.

Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.