If The Irish Programme Did Not Insist

Alone, What Did Bloom Feel? The Cold Of Interstellar Space, Thousands Of Degrees Below Freezing Point Or The Absolute Zero Of Fahrenheit, Centigrade Or Réaumur: The Incipient Intimations Of Proximate Dawn.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.

The State Is Concentric, But The Individual Is Eccentric.

This Race And This Country And This Life Produced Me, He Said. I Shall Express Myself As I Am.

Love, Yes. Word Known To All Men.