No Pen, No Ink, No

When I Die Dublin Will Be Written On My Heart.

We Are All Born In The Same Way But We All Die In Different Ways.

Beauty, The Splendour Of Truth, Is A Gracious Presence When The Imagination Contemplates Intensely The Truth Of Its Own Being Or The Visible World, And The Spirit Which Proceeds Out Of Truth And Beauty Is The Holy Spirit Of Joy. These Are Realities And These Alone Give And Sustain Life.

You Behold In Me, Stephen Said With Grim Displeasure, A Horrible Example Of Free Thought.

If There Is Any Difficulty In What I Write, It Is Because Of The Material I Use. The Thought Is Always Simple.