If they would all sleep all the time she wouldn't mind being their mother.

She was a terrible mother, there was no doubt about it, but she didn't even have the strength to feel guilty.

She could have happily lived inside any nineteenth century novel.

Maybe this was why people filled their house with stinking cats, so they didn't notice that they were alone, so they wouldn't die without a living soul noticing.

The only time you were safe was when you were dead.

What does it matter what people do? At the end of the day we're all dead.

Although life and I are not always in love with each other, we do remain on close speaking terms.

The primary moral judgment on candidates and their positions is to be made in the light of their concern for protecting human life from conception to natural death.

An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman walk into a bar. The barman looks at them and says: "Is this some kind of a joke?"

As long as he has a house with two bathrooms. I swear to God, I don't care if he's Jack the Ripper.

No, I'm at full height, I'm in the studio, I can actually catch actors by the eye, it's fantastic.

No artist, if he has original talent, can paint like another.

When from a long distant past nothing subsists after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.

It is curious and interesting to notice what an attraction a fussy, mincing, nickel-plated word has for you.

You will never be able to hit a target that you cannot see.

Irish fiction is full of secrets, guilty pasts, divided identities. It is no wonder that there is such a rich tradition of Gothic writing in a nation so haunted by history.