Letting the facts speak for themselves is an immoral principle when we all know that facts and figures can be selected to prove anything.
From Patrick Kavanagh
In the country places of Ireland, writing is held in certain awe: a writer was a dangerous man from whom they instinctively recoiled.
What appears in newspapers is often new but seldom true.
Ay - 'The Green Fool' business, the libel action over the head of it - did me a lot of damage. It destroyed the momentum.
The position is: the Gaelic language is no longer the native language; it is dead, yet food is being brought to the graveyard.
Publicity's a cancer. It eats out a man - till there's nothing but a shell left.
Young writers should keep out of pubs and remember that the cliche way of the artistic life is a lie.
Poetry is not Irish or any other nationality; and when writers such as Messrs. Clarke, Farren and the late F. R. Higgins pursue Irishness as a poetic end, they are merely exploiting incidental local colour.
Yeats, protected to some extent by the Nationalistic movement, wrote out of a somewhat protected world, and so his work does not touch life deeply.
There is nothing as dead and as damned as an important thing. The things that really matter are casual, insignificant little things.
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