My Puns Are Not Trivial.

Terence O'ryan Heard Him And Straightway Brought Him A Crystal Cup Full Of The Foaming Ebon Ale Which The Noble Twin Brothers Bungiveagh And Bungardilaun Brew Ever In Their Divine Alevats, Cunning As The Sons Of Deathless Leda. For They Garner The Succulent Berries Of The Hop And Mass And Sift And Bruise And Brew Them And They Mix Therewith Sour Juices And Bring The Must To The Sacred Fire And Cease Not Night Or Day From Their Toil, Those Cunning Brothers, Lords Of The Vat.

The Pleasures Of Love Lasts But A Fleeting But The Pledges Of Life Outlusts A Lieftime.

[a Writer Is] A Priest Of Eternal Imagination, Transmuting The Daily Bread Of Experience Into The Radiant Body Of Everliving Life.

Stephen Jerked His Thumb Towards The Window, Saying: — That Is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy Asked. — A Shout In The Street, Stephen Answered, Shrugging His Shoulders.

One Of The Things I Could Never Get Accustomed To In My Youth Was The Difference I Found Between Life And Literature.