I’d love to have the whole place swimming in roses.
I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.
Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.
The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.
A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what’s cheese? Corpse of milk.
Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.
Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.
Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.
White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.
I have the words already. What I am seeking is the perfect order of words in the sentence. You can see for yourself how many different ways they might be arranged.
I think a child should be allowed to take his father’s or mother’s name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction.
Our souls, shame-wounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more.
Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.
There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.
And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.
My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.
In the particular is contained the universal.
Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and a bottle.