When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.
In every question and every remark tossed back and forth between lovers who have not played out the last fugue, there is one question and it is this 'Is there someone new'
Countries are either mothers or fathers, and engender the emotional bristle secretly reserved for either sire.
Recollection is not something that I can summon up, it simply comes and I am the servant of it.
I am obsessive, also I am industrious. Besides, the time when you are most alive and most aware is in childhood and one is trying to recapture that heightened awareness.
Writing is like carrying a fetus.
Inebriations of love, shadows of love, fantasies of love, but never yet the one true love
Writers really live in the mind and in hotels of the soul.
I have some women friends but I prefer men. Don't trust women. There is a built-in competition between women.
I'm an Irish Catholic and I have a long iceberg of guilt.
I'm an Irish Catholic and I have a long iceberg of guilt
My hand does the work and I don't have to think in fact, were I to think, it would stop the flow. It's like a dam in the brain that bursts.
In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature.
Writers live in the mind and in hotels of the soul.
There is something about holding on to things that I find therapeutic.
. . . in dreams begins responsibility.
I'm a tuning fork, tense and twanging all the time.
The vote means nothing to women. We should be armed.