The Way I See It Is That

Among Its Many Other Obligations, Fiction Always Has To Be Believable. Life Does Not Have To Suffer Such Constraint, And Much Of What Takes Place Is Believable Only Because It Happens.

Anything That Is Given Can Be At Once Taken Away. We Have To Learn Never To Expect Anything, And When It Comes It's No More Than A Gift On Loan.

Yes, But Also One Of The Problems For A Novelist In Ireland Is The Fact That There Are No Formal Manners. I Mean Some People Have Beautiful Manners But There's No Kind Of Agreed Form Of Manners.

When You're In Danger Of Losing A Thing It Becomes Precious And When It's Around Us, It's In Tedious Abundance And We Take It For Granted As If We're Going To Live Forever, Which We're Not.

The Best Of Life Is Life Lived Quietly, Where Nothing Happens But Our Calm Journey Through The Day, Where Change Is Imperceptible And The Precious Life Is Everything.