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

Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.

Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.

Was I asleep? Had I slept?

God is love. Yes or no? No.

If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.

If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.