“..and why the winter suns so rush to bathe themselves in the seaand what slows down the nights to a long lingering crawl...”

“The cool bathed his eyes and slowed the flight of time-time, that had crept so insidiously through the lazy April afternoons, seemed so intangible in the long spring twilights.”

“He saw the black water and the declining sun and the swan dipping down, its white wings flashing, and slowing and slowing till silver ripples carried it home. It was a scene which seemed the heart of this land. The lowing sun and the one star waking, white wings on a black water, and the smell of rain, and the long lane fading where a voice comes in the falling night.--Ireland, said Scrotes.--Yes, this is Ireland.”

“A slow trickle of lust crawled painfully down the parched gully of desire, and ended feebly in dry fumbling lechery.”

“The night starts to drift in. The crimson fingers of the dyin sun bleed into gray. The first stars blink down at us. Not long to wait now.”

“Time was like that, though - racing forward when she wanted it to slow down, then crawling to a stop when she could least bear it.”