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.

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

I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare.

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

Men come of age at sixty, women at fifteen.

Is it not possible that the ultimate end is gaiety and music and a dance of joy?

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.