The problem wiv some blokes is that wen they ain't drunk, they're sober.

A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.

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.

You that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon; Ireland's history in their lineaments trace; think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.

Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.