He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not

His Heart Danced Upon Her Movement Like A Cork Upon A Tide.

We Are All Born In The Same Way But We All Die In Different Ways.

It Seems To Me You Do Not Care What Banality A Man Expresses So Long As He Expresses It In Irish.

A Certain Pride, A Certain Awe, Withheld Him From Offering To God Even One Prayer At Night, Though He Knew It Was In God's Power To Take Away His Life While He Slept And Hurl His Soul Hellward Ere He Could Beg For Mercy.

When I Heard The Word ''stream'' Uttered With Such A Revolting Primness, What I Think Of Is Urine And Not The Contemporary Novel. And Besides, It Isn't New, It Is Far From The Dernier Cri. Shakespeare Used It Continually, Much Too Much In My Opinion, And There's Tristam Shandy, Not To Mention The "agamemnon."