In proper men there is hidden a light which darkness makes visible. I believe that the hope of mankind is in this buried glory; the spirit which makes true men hang on to the throats of their enemies at the very rim of the grave.

Now Mrs. Greensleeve, who knew that she was going to die, thought of death in the same way a nightbound wanderer in the rain looks forward to a soft bed.

There are men whom one hates until a certain moment when one sees, through a chink in their armour, the writhing of something nailed down and in torment.

When Irish eyes are smiling, watch your step.

Now, you mummy’s darlings, get a rift on them boots. Definitely shine em, my little curly-headed lambs, for in our mob, war or no war, you die with clean boots on.

But books, when you want to buy them, are costly and, when you need to sell them, valueless.