That toil of growing up; The ignominy of boyhood; the distress Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his pain.

Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.

John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought All that we did, all that we said or sang Must come from contact with the soil, from that Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

When I think of all the books I have read, and of the wise words I have heard spoken, and of the anxiety I have given to parents and grandparents, and of the hopes that I have had, all life weighed in the scales of my own life seems to me a preparation for something that never happens.