I Have My Own Soul. My Own

Obedience Simulates Subordination As Fear Of The Police Simulates Honesty.

Independence? That's Middle Class Blasphemy. We Are All Dependent On One Another, Every Soul Of Us On Earth.

This Is The True Joy In Life, The Being Used For A Purpose Recognized By Yourself As A Mighty One.

Heaven, As Conventionally Conceived, Is A Place So Inane, So Dull, So Useless, So Miserable That Nobody Has Ever Ventured To Describe A Whole Day In Heaven, Though Plenty Of People Have Described A Day At The Seaside.

An Irishman's Imagination Never Lets Him Alone, Never Convinces Him, Never Satisfies Him; But It Makes Him That He Can't Face Reality Nor Deal With It Nor Handle It Nor Conquer It: He Can Only Sneer At Them That Do, And Be 'agreeable To Strangers', Like A Good-for-nothing Woman On The Streets.