My three-thousand mile walk through Ireland convinced me of one thing - the possibility of organising a proper movement for the independence of my native land.

A woman is a branchy tree and man a singing wind; and from her branches carelessly he takes what he can find.

Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it.

You must be fit to give before you can be fit to receive.

Let the past be content with itself, for man needs forgetfulness as well as memory

Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man is his past, and is to be known by it.

Can a spear divine the Eternal Will?