Wipe Your Glosses With What You Know.

He Drew Forth A Phrase From His Treasure And Spoke It Softly To Himself: A Day Of Dappled Seaborne Clouds.

Ulysses He ... Saw The Dark Tangled Curls Of His Bush Floating, Floating Hair Of The Stream Around The Limp Father Of Thousands, A Languid Flatong Flower.

If Ireland Is To Become A New Ireland She Must First Become European.

The Supreme Question About A Work Of Art Is Out Of How Deep A Life Does It Spring.

Whatever Else Is Unsure In This Stinking Dunghill Of A World A Mother's Love Is Not.