Let me Count the Ways…

“For the Irish have not the heart to baptize their children completely, they want to preserve just a little paganism, and whereas a child is normally completely immersed, they keep his right arm out of the water so that in the after-life he can grasp a sword and hold a girl in his arm.”

“A quiet Irishman is about as harmless as a powder magazing built over a match factory.”

“Your wits can’t thicken in that soft, moist air, on those white spriny roads, in those misty rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and magenta heather. You’ve no such colour in the sky, no such lure in the distance, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh the dreaming! the dreaming! the toururing, heartscalding, never satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming”

And again, I am left with….when?

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