What I Have Found Is, Anything One

Where Would The Irish Be Without Someone To Be Irish At?

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.

In 'real Life' Everything Is Diluted; In The Novel Everything Is Condensed.

To The Sun Rome Owes Its Underlying Glow, And Its Air Called Golden - To Me, More The Yellow Of White Wine; Like Wine It Raises Agreeability To Poetry.

For People Who Live On Expectations, To Face Up To Their Realization Is Something Of An Ordeal.