Writing about art is only useful when it leads to the experience of art.
A city built upon mud; A culture built upon profit; Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Why should I want to go back To you, Ireland, my Ireland?
There seeps from heavily jowled or hawk-like foreign faces The guttural sorrow of the refugees.
a fortress against ideas and against the Shuddering insidious shock of the theory-vendors The little sardine men crammed in a monster toy Who tilt their aggregate beast against our crumbling Troy.
All that I would like to be is human, having a share in a civilized, articulate and well-adjusted community where the mind is given its due but the body is not distrusted
World is crazier and more of it than we think, Incorrigibly plural.
I was the rector's son, born to the anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor; The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure.
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
There's this kind of strange mythology about me in the media because I've done unusual things.
Life is not what it's supposed to be. It's what it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.
My definition of prosperity would be quite different than what most people probably imagine or think, because I think that a wholeness word that means nothing missing, nothing broken. It's not finances or materialism.