As I am. As I am. All or not at all.

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

It seems to me you do not care what banality a man expresses so long as he expresses it in Irish.

You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.

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

There's many a true word spoken in jest.

I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time.