Sentimentality Is Unearned Emotion.

Evening Had Fallen. A Rim Of The Young Moon Cleft The Pale Waste Of Sky Line, The Rim Of A Silver Hoop Embedded In Grey Sand: And The Tide Was Flowing In Fast To The Land With A Low Whisper Of Her Waves, Islanding A Few Last Figures In Distant Pools.

For The Years, He Felt, Had Not Quenched His Soul, Or Hers.

I'll Tickle His Catastrophe.

The Studious Silence Of The Library ... Thought Is The Thought Of Thought. Tranquil Brightness.

I Want To Give A Picture Of Dublin So Complete That If The City Suddenly Disappeared From The Earth It Could Be Reconstructed Out Of My Book.