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.
Man can embody truth bet he cannot know it.
Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.
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.
Think where mans glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.
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.
Education is not filling a bucket, but lighting a fire.
Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
I am still of opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood - sex and the dead.
The creations of a great writer are little more than the moods and passions of his own heart, given surnames and Christian names, and sent to walk the earth.
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
You know what the Englishman's idea of compromise is? He says, Some people say there is a God. Some people say there is no God. The truth probably lies somewhere between these two statements.