Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.
Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.
The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.
Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.
There is man in his entirety, blaming his shoe when his foot is guilty.
It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.