My father was a creature of the archaic world, really. He would have been entirely at home in a Gaelic hill-fort. His side of the family, and the houses I associate with his side of the family, belonged to a traditional rural Ireland.
To me in my childhood, elves and fairies of all sorts were very real things, and my dolls were as really children as I was myself a child.
There is nothing as dead and as damned as an important thing. The things that really matter are casual, insignificant little things.
Genteel women suppose that those things do not really exist about which it is impossible to talk in polite company.
There really can be no peace without justice. There can be no justice without truth. And there can be no truth, unless someone rises up to tell you the truth.
We’re born with the desire, but we don’t really know how to choose. We don’t know what our taste is, and we don’t know what we are seeing.
I’m not a bit changed – not really. I’m only just pruned down and branched out. The real me – back here – is just the same.
One never really knows who one’s enemy is.
We recognize the chicken as another conscious being. It’s different from us, but it has a life, and if something is really important for that chicken, if it would work hard to try to get it, and if we can give it without sacrificing something that’s really important to us, then we should.
Easy is to occupy a place in a telephone book. Difficult is to occupy someone’s heart; know that you’re really loved.