After A Full Belly All Is Poetry.

I Say, Billy, What’s The Use In Playing Croquet When You’re Doomed? He Says, Frankie, What’s The Use Of Not Playing Croquet When You’re Doomed?

Sit And Quiet Yourself. Luxuriate In A Certain Memory And The Details Will Come. Let The Images Flow. You'll Be Amazed At What Will Come Out On Paper. I'm Still Learning What It Is About The Past That I Want To Write. I Don't Worry About It. It Will Emerge. It Will Insist On Being Told.

I'm Not One Of Those James Joyce Intellectuals Who Can Stand Back And Look At The Whole Edifice... It Was A Slow Process For Me To Just Crawl Out Of It, Like A Snake Leaving His Skin Behind.

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.

I Admire Certain Priests And Nuns Who Go Off On Their Own And Do God's Work On Their Own, Who Help In The Ghettos, But As Far As The Institution Of The Church Is Concerned, I Think It Is Despicable.