Posts tagged Irish Author
Excerpt | Eileen Gray

She is very modest about her work, and seemed surprised that any one should remember her except her individual clients. A few years ago when the Royal Institute of Irish architects had arranged an exhibition of her work in dublin, people had been amazed to see the dates on things that looked as if they were much more modern. She said she got a few letters from Irish architects and artists, which pleased her very much, she had them in a little file still called “Irlande” and she hoped that she had remembered to reply to them all.

Yes, she had been back to Ireland a few times, but very briefly, and once by chance when she found that a plane was going to stop over there. She decided to get off and go and look at her old home, and she thought she would have again all those lovely feelings of peace and innocence like she had as a child. But it had changed, and nothing was the same. It wasn’t just that everything – the lawns, the fields, the river – were smaller; she knew that would happen. It was all knocked down and built again, in a most unimaginative style. It made her sad. she never went back again.

And she lives in comfort but not in idleness with a marvellous woman called Dadame Dany who is a breton housekeeper/companion/dragon. Madame Dany sees that she eats enough and rests enough and doesn’t get weary talking to journalists for too long.

So Eileen Gray got up and said that she must finish those chairs, because, my dear, I am nearly 100 you know, and it would be foolish to think that I will have unlimited time to finish them the way I want them to be.


Interviewed by Binchy, M. (1976) Paris

Excerpt | Summer Wishes

I wish we could spend July by the sea, browning ourselves and feeling water-weighted hair flow behind us from a dive.
I wish our gravest concerns were the summer gnats.
I wish we were hungry for hot dogs and dopes, and it would be nice to smell the starch of summer linens and the faint odor of talc in blistering summer bath houses ...
We could lie in long citoneuse beams of the five o'clock sun on the plage at Juan-les-Pins and hear the sound of the drum and piano being scooped out to sea by the waves.

Fitzgerald, Z. (1985) Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald

Fundamentals | E. E. Cummings

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.

Excerpt | Believe

When you come to the edge of all that you know, you must believe one of two things: either there will be ground to stand on, or you will be given wings to fly.

Melling, O.R. (1999) The Summer King, The Chronicles of Faerie Vol. II

Excerpt | Irish Summer Things

It was one of those summers you’re nostalgic for even before it passes.
Pale, bled skies.
Thunderstorms in the night.
Sour-smelling dawns.
It brought temptation, and yearning, and ache – these are the summer things.

Barry, K (2011) City of Bohane

Excerpt | Summer Solstice

In certain latitudes there comes a span of time approaching and following the summer solstice, some weeks in all, when the twilights turn long and blue.
This period of the blue nights does not occur in subtropical California, where I lived for much of the time I will be talking about here and where the end of daylight is fast and lost in the blaze of the dropping sun, but it does occur in New York, where I now live.
You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming — in fact not at all a warming — yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise.
You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the colour blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this blue deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades.

Didion, J. (2011) Blue Nights

Excerpt | Carl Sandburg

Come clean with a child heart
Laugh as peaches in the summer wind
Let rain on a house roof be a song
Let the writing on your face
be a smell of apple orchards on late June

Honey and Salt, 1963

Excerpt | Dill

Summer was our best season:
it was sleeping on the back screened porch in cots,
or trying to sleep in the treehouse;
summer was everything good to eat;
it was a thousand colours in a parched landscape;
but most of all, summer was Dill.

Lee, H. (1960) To Kill A Mockingbird

Excerpt | A Suit

'i'll make you one, ' he said, 'and balance it
perfectly on you.' so i could almost feel
the plumb line of the creased tweed hit my heel,

my shoulders like a spar or arms of a scale
under the jacket, my whole shape realigned
in ways that suited me down to the ground.

so although a suit was the last thing that i needed
i weighed his words and wore them and decided
there and then it was going for a song.

heaney, s. (1939-2013)

Fundamentals | Love

Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.

C.S. Lewis

Excerpt | Expatriate

you are an expatriate, you've lost touch with the soil. you get precious. fake european standards have ruined you. you drink yourself to death. you become obsessed with sex. you spend all your time talking, not working. you are an expatriate, see? you hang around cafes.


hemingway, e. (1926) the sun also rises

Excerpt | Tea And Honey

"i don't feel very much like pooh today," said pooh.

"there there," said piglet. "i'll bring you tea and honey until you do."


milne, a.a. (1926) winnie-the-pooh

Excerpt | Polary Bear

There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire -
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
And munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there -
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

silverstein, s. (1981) a light in the attic

Excerpt | AS I AM.

as i am. all or not at all. 

joyce, j. (1922) ulysses