The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.

And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.

In dreams begins responsibility.

It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is

Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. . . .

Education is not about filling a pail, it's about lighting a fire.

Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.