If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried; And fought with the invulnerable tide.

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.

And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.

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