What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident?

Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.

When such as I cast out remorse; So great a sweetness flows into the breast; We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blessed.

It is most important that we should keep in this country a certain leisured class. I am of the opinion of the ancient Jewish book which says there is no wisdom without leisure.

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

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top.