I Wonder What Adam And Eve Think

Hindered Characters / Seldom Have Mothers / In Irish Stories, But They All Have Grandmothers.

If You Will Tell Me Why The Fen Appears Impassable, I Then Will Tell You Why I Think That I Can Cross It If I Try.

Concurring Hands Divide Flax For Damask That When Bleached By Irish Weather Has The Silvered Chamois-leather Water-tightness Of A Skin.

We Are What We Were At Birth, And Each Trait Has Remained In Conformity With Earth's And With Heaven's Logic: Be The Devil's Tool, Resort To Black Magic, None Can Diverge From The Ends Which Heaven Foreordained.

Truly As The Sun Can Rot Or Mend, Love Can Make One Bestial Or Make A Beast A Man.