Where Would The Irish Be Without Someone

Grown-up People Seem To Be Busy By Clockwork... They Run Their Unswerving Course From Object To Object, Directed By Some Mysterious Inner Needle That Points All The Time To What They Must Do Next. You Can Only Marvel At Such Misuse Of Time.

A Romantic Man Often Feels More Uplifted With Two Women Than With One: His Love Seems To Hit The Ideal Mark Somewhere Between Two Different Faces.

Every Love Has A Poetic Relevance Of Its Own; Each Love Brings To Light Only What To It Is Relevant. Outside Lies The Junk-yard Of What Does Not Matter.

What I Have Found Is, Anything One Keeps Hidden Should Now And Then Be Hidden Somewhere Else.

Nothing, That Is Say No One, Can Be Such An Inexorable Tour-conductor As One's Own Conscience Or Sense Of Duty, If One Allows Either The Upper Hand: The Self-bullying That Goes On In The Name Of Sight-seeing Is Grievous.