Plot Is The Knowing Of Destination.

Without Fiction, Either Life Would Be Insufficient Or The Winds From The North Would Blow Too Cold.

... In General, The Anglo-irish Do Not Make Good Dancers; They Are Too Spritely And Conscious; They Are Incapable Of One Kind Of Trance Or Of Being Seemingly Impersonal. And, For The Formal, Pure Dance They Lack The Formality: About Their Stylishness (for They Have Stylishness) There Is Something Impromptu, Slightly Disorderly.

Everything Is Very Quiet, The Streets Are Never Crowded, And The People One Dislikes Are Out Of Town.

Raids Are Slightly Constipating.

With No Banal Reassuring Grown-ups Present, With Grown-up Intervention Taken Away, There Is No Limit To The Terror Strange Children Feel Of Each Other, A Terror Life Obscures But Never Ceases To Justify. There Is No End To The Violations Committed By Children On Children, Quietly Talking Alone.