His style is chaos illumined by flashes of lightning. As a writer he has mastered everything except language.

Actions are the first tragedy in life, words are the second. Words are perhaps the worst. Words are merciless. . .

Nothing is so aggravating than calmness.

Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.

An entirely new factor has appeared in the social development of the country, and this factor is the Irish-American, and his influence. To mature its powers, to concentrate its action, to learn the secret of its own strength and of England's weakness, the Celtic intellect has had to cross the Atlantic. At home it had but learned the pathetic weakness of nationality; in a strange land it realised what indomitable forces nationality possesses. What captivity was to the Jews, exile has been to the Irish: America and American influence have educated them.

And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

Everything in moderation, including moderation.