Ireland Sober Is Ireland Stiff.

All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.

I Confess That I Do Not See What Good It Does To Fulminate Against The English Tyranny While The Roman Tyranny Occupies The Palace Of The Soul.

The Sacred Pint Alone Can Unbind The Tongue.

Her Name Sprang To My Lips At Moments In Strange Prayers And Praises Which I Myself Did Not Understand. My Eyes Were Often Full Of Tears (i Could Not Tell Why) And At Times A Flood From My Heart Seemed To Pour Itself Out Into My Bosom. I Thought Little Of The Future. I Did Not Know Whether I Would Ever Speak To Her Or Not Or, If I Spoke To Her, How I Could Tell Her Of My Confused Adoration.

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.