His Eyes Were Dimmed With

But My Body Was Like A Harp And Her Words And Gestures Were Like Fingers Running Upon The Wires.

The Important Thing Is Not What We Write But How We Write, And In My Opinion The Modern Writer Must Be An Adventurer Above All, Willing To Take Every Risk, And Be Prepared To Founder In His Effort If Need Be. In Other Words We Must Write Dangerously

He Drew Forth A Phrase From His Treasure And Spoke It Softly To Himself: A Day Of Dappled Seaborne Clouds.

I Could Call My Wandering Thoughts Together. I Had Hardly Any Patience With The Serious Work Of Life Which, Now That It Stood Between Me And My Desire, Seemed To Me Child's Play, Ugly Monotonous Child's Play.

He Comes Into The World God Knows How, Walks On The Water, Gets Out Of His Grave And Goes Up Off The Hill Of Howth. What Drivel Is This?