Everything That We Inherit, The Rain, The

Amongst Women Concentrated On The Family, And The New Book Concentrates On A Small Community. The Dominant Units In Irish Society Are The Family And The Locality. The Idea Was That The Whole World Would Grow Out From That Small Space.

I Suppose . . . In Writing You Can't Have Regrets. I Mean, You Just Get It Down The Way It Was . . . It's Only Wishful Thinking That Things Could Be Other Than They Were.

I Think Fiction Is A Very Serious Thing, That While It Is Fiction, It Is Also A Revelation Of Truth, Or Facts.

Without The Book Business It Would Be Difficult Or Impossible For True Books To Find Their True Readers And Without That Solitary (and Potentially Subversive) Alone With A Book The Whole Razzmatazz Of Prizes, Banquets, Television Spectaculars, Bestseller Lists, Even Literature Courses, Editors And Authors, Are All Worthless. Unless A Book Finds Lovers Among Those Solitary Readers, It Will Not Live . . . Or Live For Long.

...with A Rush Of Feeling He Felt That This Must Be Happiness. As Soon As The Thought Came To Him, He Fought It Back, Blaming The Whiskey. The Very Idea Was As Dangerous As Presumptive Speech: Happiness Could Not Be Sought Or Worried Into Being, Or Even Fully Grasped; It Should Be Allowed Its Own Slow Pace So That It Passes Unnoticed, If It Ever Comes At All.