“Any fool can fight a winning battle, but it needs character to fight a losing one, and that should inspire us; which reminds me that I dreamed the other night that I was being hanged, but was the life and soul of the party.”

“Children play at being great and wonderful people, at the ambitions they will put away for one reason or another before they grow into ordinary men and women. Mankind as a whole had a like dream once; everybody and nobody built up the dream bit by bit, and the ancient story-tellers are there to make us remember what mankind would have been like, had not fear and the failing will and the laws of nature tripped up its heels. The Fianna and their like are themselves so full of power, and they are set in a world so fluctuating and dream-like, that nothing can hold them from being all that the heart desires."from a preface toGods and Fighting Menby Lady Augusta Gregory”

“It takes more courage to examine the dark corners of your own soul than it does for a soldier to fight on a battlefield”

“Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,Enwrought with golden and silver light,The blue and the dim and the dark clothsOf night and light and the half light,I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

“An Irish Airman foresees his DeathI Know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate Those that I guard I do not love, My country is Kiltartan Cross,My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public man, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath,A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.”

“Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.”

“CUCHULAIN’S FIGHT WITH THE SEAA MAN came slowly from the setting sun,To Emer, raddling raiment in her dun,And said, ‘I am that swineherd whom you bidGo watch the road between the wood and tide,But now I have no need to watch it more.’Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,And raising arms all raddled with the dye,Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.That swineherd stared upon her face and said,‘No man alive, no man among the dead,Has won the gold his cars of battle bring.’‘But if your master comes home triumphingWhy must you blench and shake from foot to crown?’Thereon he shook the more and cast him downUpon the web-heaped floor, and cried his word:‘With him is one sweet-throated like a bird.’‘You dare me to my face,’ and thereuponShe smote with raddled fist, and where her sonHerded the cattle came with stumbling feet,And cried with angry voice, ’It is not meetTo idle life away, a common herd.’‘I have long waited, mother, for that word:But wherefore now?’‘There is a man to die;You have the heaviest arm under the sky.’‘Whether under its daylight or its starsMy father stands amid his battle-cars.’‘But you have grown to be the taller man.’‘Yet somewhere under starlight or the sunMy father stands.’‘Aged, worn out with warsOn foot, on horseback or in battle-cars.’‘I only ask what way my journey lies,For He who made you bitter made you wise.’‘The Red Branch camp in a great companyBetween wood’s rim and the horses of the sea.Go there, and light a camp-fire at wood’s rim;But tell your name and lineage to himWhose blade compels, and wait till they have foundSome feasting man that the same oath has bound.’Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt,And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt,Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes,Even as Spring upon the ancient skies,And pondered on the glory of his days;And all around the harp-string told his praise,And Conchubar, the Red Branch king of kings,With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.At last Cuchulain spake, ‘Some man has madeHis evening fire amid the leafy shade.I have often heard him singing to and fro,I have often heard the sweet sound of his bow.Seek out what man he is.’One went and came.‘He bade me let all know he gives his nameAt the sword-point, and waits till we have foundSome feasting man that the same oath has bound.’Cuchulain cried, ‘I am the only manOf all this host so bound from childhood on.After short fighting in the leafy shade,He spake to the young man, ’Is there no maidWho loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,That you have come and dared me to my face?’‘The dooms of men are in God’s hidden place,’‘Your head a while seemed like a woman’s headThat I loved once.’Again the fighting sped,But now the war-rage in Cuchulain woke,And through that new blade’s guard the old blade broke,And pierced him.‘Speak before your breath is done.’‘Cuchulain I, mighty Cuchulain’s son.’‘I put you from your pain. I can no more.’While day its burden on to evening bore,With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;Then Conchubar sent that sweet-throated maid,And she, to win him, his grey hair caressed;In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men,Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,Spake thus: ‘Cuchulain will dwell there and broodFor three days more in dreadful quietude,And then arise, and raving slay us all.Chaunt in his ear delusions magical,That he may fight the horses of the sea.’The Druids took them to their mystery,And chaunted for three days.Cuchulain stirred,Stared on the horses of the sea, and heardThe cars of battle and his own name cried;And fought with the invulnerable tide.”