The Irish, as a race, have the oral tradition in their blood. A direct question to them is an anathema, but in other cases, a mere syllable of a hero's name will elicit whole chapters of stories.

What I want to know is this: Are the stars gold paper or is the gold paper stars?

A writer is, after all, only half his book. The other half is the reader and from the reader the writer learns.

Child and serpent, star and stone — all one.

If you want to find Cherry-Tree Lane all you have to do is ask the Policeman at the cross-roads.

The Irish, as a race, have the oral tradition in their blood. A direct question to them is an anathema, but in other cases, a mere syllable of a hero's name will elicit whole chapters of stories.

It may be that to eat and be eaten are the same thing in the end. My wisdom tells me that this is probably so. We are all made of the same stuff, remember, we of the Jungle, you of the City. The same substance composes us-the tree overhead, the stone beneath us, the bird, the beast, the star-we are all one, all moving to the same end. Remember that when you no longer remember me, my child.