I am not very moved by historical apologies.
Woman suffrage is an unjust, unreasonable, unspiritual abnormality. It is a hard, undigested, tasteless, devitalized proposition. It is a half-fledged, unmusical, Promethean abomination. It is a quack bolus to reduce masculinity even by the obliteration of femininity.
I’m not personally obsessed with death. At a certain age, the light that you live in is inhabited by the shades – it ’tis.
I’ve nothing against the Queen personally. I had lunch at the Palace once upon a time.
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven’t yet met.
And say my glory was I had such friends.
Without needing to be theoretically instructed, consciousness quickly realizes that it is the site of variously contending discourses.
A poet is never one of the people. He is detached, remote, and the life of small-time dances and talk about football would not be for him. He might take part but could not belong.
Stop at home. Arm for Ireland. Fight for Ireland and no other land.