Men come of age at sixty, women at fifteen.

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.

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

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

Because our lives are cowardly and sly, Because we do not dare to take or give, Because we scowl and pass each other by, We do not live; we do not dare to live.

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