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We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.
The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
I have known more men destroyed by the desire to have wife and child and to keep them in comfort than I have seen destroyed by drink and harlots.
I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.
Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
You that would judge me, do not judge alone this book or that, come to this hallowed place where my friends’ portraits hang and look thereon Ireland’s history in their lineaments trace think where man’s glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.
Why should we honour those that die upon the field of battle? A man may show as reckless a courage in entering into the abyss of himself.
Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.