Sing Your Song. Dance Your Dance. Tell

I Don't Absolve My Father Completely Of His Responsibility For What He Did To Us I Feel Compassion, Maybe. He Had His Demons. But I Still Can't Understand How A Man Can Walk Away From Children. And Leave Them To Starve, As We Nearly Did, If It Wasn't For My Mother Going Out And Begging.

He Says, You Have To Study And Learn So That You Can Make Up Your Own Mind About History And Everything Else But You Can’t Make Up An Empty Mind. Stock Your Mind, Stock Your Mind. It Is Your House Of Treasure And No One In The World Can Interfere With It. If You Won The Irish Sweepstakes And Bought A House That Needed Furniture Would You Fill It With Bits And Pieces Of Rubbish? Your Mind Is Your House And If You Fill It With Rubbish From The Cinemas It Will Rot In Your Head. You Might Be Poor, Your Shoes Might Be Broken, But Your Mind Is A Palace.

When I Look Back On My Childhood I Wonder How I Survived At All. It Was, Of Course, A Miserable Childhood: The Happy Childhood Is Hardly Worth Your While. Worse Than The Ordinary Miserable Childhood Is The Miserable Irish Childhood, And Worse Yet Is The Miserable Irish Catholic Childhood.

I Don't Believe In Happiness Anyway... It's Too Much Of An American Pastime, This Search For Happiness. Just Forget Happiness And Enjoy Your Misery.

I Must Congratulate Myself, In Passing, For Never Having Lost The Ability To Examine My Conscience, Never Having Lost The Gift Of Finding Myself Wanting & Defective. Why Fear The Criticism Of Others When You, Yourself, Are First Out Of The Critical Gate? If Self-denigration Is The Race I Am The Winner, Even Before The Starting Gun. Collect The Bets.