An Irishman Needs Three Things : Silence,

The Artist Who Could Disentangle The Subtle Soul Of The Image From Its Mesh Of Defining Circumstances Most Exactly And 're-embody' It In Artistic Circumstances Chosen As The Most Exact For It In Its New Office, He Was The Supreme Artist.

My Puns Are Not Trivial. They Are Quadrivial

Evening Had Fallen. A Rim Of The Young Moon Cleft The Pale Waste Of Sky Line, The Rim Of A Silver Hoop Embedded In Grey Sand: And The Tide Was Flowing In Fast To The Land With A Low Whisper Of Her Waves, Islanding A Few Last Figures In Distant Pools.

When The Irishman Is Found Outside Of Ireland In Another Environment, He Very Often Becomes A Respected Man. The Economic And Intellectual Conditions That Prevail In His Own Country Do Not Permit The Development Of Individuality. No One Who Has Any Self-respect Stays In Ireland, But Flees Afar As Though From A Country That Has Undergone The Visitation Of An Angered Jove.

What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good Idea The Latin. Stupifies Them First. Hospice For The Dying. They Don't Seem To Chew It; Only Swallow It Down.