The drama, like the symphony, does not teach or prove anything.

They're cheering a young lad, the champion playboy of the Western World.

A translation is no translation unless it will give you the music of a poem along with the words of it.

In this cry of pain the inner consciousness of the people seems to lay itself bare for an instant, and to reveal the mood of beings who feel their isolation in the face of a universe that wars on them with winds and seas.

The general knowledge of time on the island depends, curiously enough, on the direction of the wind.

Foreign languages are another favourite topic, and as these men are bilingual they have a fair notion of what it means to speak and think in many different idioms.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.