I Don't Want To Die. Damn Death.

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.

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

The Only Decent People I Ever Saw At The Racecourse Were Horses.

Stephen Jerked His Thumb Towards The Window, Saying: — That Is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy Asked. — A Shout In The Street, Stephen Answered, Shrugging His Shoulders.

It Is A Symbol Of Irish Art. The Cracked Looking-glass Of A Servant.