“What sorrow is like to the sorrow of one who is alone?Once I dwelt in the company of the king I loved well,And my arm was heavy with the weight of the rings he gave,And my heart weighed down with the gold of his love.The face the king is like the sun to those who surrounded,.But now my heart is emptyAnd I wander along throughout the world.The groves take on their blossoms,The trees and meadows grow fairBut the cuckoo, saddest of singers,Cries forth the only sorrow of the exile,And now my heart hoes wandering,In search of what I shall never see more;All faces are alike to me if I cannot see the face of my king,And all countries are alike to me When I cannot see the fair fields and meadows of my home.So I shall arise and follow my heart in its wanderingFor what is the fair meadow of home to meWhen I cannot see the face of my kingAnd the weight on my arm is but a band of goldWhen the heart is empty of the weight of love.And so I shall go roaming Over the fishers' roadAnd the road of the great whale And beyond the country of the waveWith none to bear me companyBut the memory of those I lovedAnd the songs I sang out of a full heart,And the cuckoo's cry in memory.”

“For a moment I feel as though I exist outside of my body, as if I'm looking at myself from his perspective. I see my face, my injured arm, these legs that suddenly seem unable to carry my weight. Cracks begin to form along my face, all the way down my arms, my torso, my legs.I imagine this is what it's like to fall apart.”

“I shall now call myself;I shall now call.In the forest of my heart, seeing myself,I shall love myself and love myself.I shall be my own quest,My absolute wealth.The journey of light supreme will commenceIn the heart of freedom.”

“But if I know not even the tail of this whale, how understand his head? much more, how comprehend this face, when face he has none? Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.”

“It's all i have to bring todaythis and my heart besidethis and my heart and all the fields and all the meadows widebe sure to countshould i forgetsomeone the sum could tellthis and my heart and all the beeswhich in the clovers dwell”

“Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.”