Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.

I have desired, like every artist, to create a little world out of the beautiful, pleasant, and significant things of this marred and clumsy world, and to show in a vision something of the face of Ireland to any of my own people who would look where I bid them. I have therefore written down accurately and candidly much that I have heard and seen, and, except by way of commentary, nothing that I have merely imagined.

It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.

If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf

Life is a journey up a spiral staircase; as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up; as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive; we go both round and upward.