The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.

We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench

Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.

That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.

I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.

it's impossible I should have a mind and I have one

Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.