“She knew where they were going. She had visited Kilmainham Gaol before, wrapped in its brooding walls lest the ghosts it housed should break free and point accusing fingers at those who used the reins of power to drive the horses of personal ambition. It was a sad place where the residue of human suffering lingered – it had no place else to go.”

“His voice evoked the ghosts of those who had paid that price and died horribly. They hovered in the shadows muttering vengeance, but he didn't appear to be affected as he walked and talked. He was at home with the living and the dead.”

“It was great spending the nights with him, but sometimes, she needed a little break from him and the her that she became around him.”

“Horse-Protestant be damned,” Maurice chuckled, “I am as Irish as the rest of you, but I don’t get to blame someone whenever things don’t go my way.”

“Are you sayin' it's okay to throw yourself at someone for the sake of art but it's not okay to go around bein' nice?”

“Some good things did come out of France, but the place has become unbearably Gaulish don’t you think?”

“Submit to me."So she said nothing, but looked doggedly and sadly at the shore, wrapped in its mantle of peace; as if the people there had fallen alseep, she thought; were free like smoke, were free to come and go like ghosts. They have no suffering there, she thought.”