Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.
What is better than to sit at the end of the day and drink wine with friends, or substitutes for friends?
What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is my own.
When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street.
Jews are accused of ruining. Not a vestige of truth in it. (…) The priest spells poverty (…) It’s in the dogma. Because if they didn’t believe they’d go straight to heaven when they die they’d try to live better, at least so I think. (…) I want to see everyone, all creeds and classes having a comfortable tidysized income. I call that patriotism.” (526)
between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odour.
For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I’ll slip away before they’re up. They’ll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me.
His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of
Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr William
Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chief
rabbi, the presbyterian moderator, the heads of the baptist, anabaptist,
methodist and Moravian chapels and the honorary secretary of the society
Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?
Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.