She is a girl would not be afraid to walk the whole world with herself.

In my childhood there was every year at my old home, Roxborough, or, as it is called in Irish, Cregroostha, a great sheep-shearing that lasted many days. On the last evening there was always a dance for the shearers and their helpers, and two pipers used to sit on chairs placed on a corn-bin to make music for the dance.

In writing a little tragedy, 'The Gaol Gate,' I made the scenario in three lines, 'He is an informer; he is dead; he is hanged.' I wrote that play very quickly.

It was among farmers and potato diggers and old men in workhouses and beggars at my own door that I found what was beyond these and yet farther beyond that drawingroom poet of my childhood in the expression of love, and grief, and the pain of parting, that are the disclosure of the individual soul.

Every day in the year there comes some malice into the world, and where it comes from is no good place.

What are prophecies? Don't we hear them every day of the week? And if one comes true there may be seven blind and come to nothing.

There is no sin coveting things are of no great use or profit, but would show out good and have some grandeur around them.