Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.

The hands are the heart's messengers.

Hindered characters / seldom have mothers / in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.

The self does not realize itself most fully when self-realization is its most constant aim.

Which of us has not been stunned by the beauty of an animal's skin or its flexibility in motion?

The cynics in life are the people who are always trying to do things for people who don't want things done for them.

Any writer overwhelmingly honest about pleasing himself is almost sure to please others.