Irish - Poet | April 16, 1871 - March 24, 1909
Lord, confound this surly sister, blight her brow with blotch and blister, cramp her larynx, lung and liver, in her guts a galling give her.
John Millington Synge
SisterLordLiverHerGiveGuts
I'm a good scholar when it comes to reading but a blotting kind of writer when you give me a pen.
GoodMeReadingYouPenKind
In a good play every speech should be as fully flavored as a nut or apple.
GoodSpeechApplePlayNutShould
It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
PoetryRootsStrongClayWormsMost
They're cheering a young lad, the champion playboy of the Western World.
WorldChampionYoungPlayboyLad
The grief of the keen is no personal complaint for the death of one woman over eighty years, but seems to contain the whole passionate rage that lurks somewhere in every native of the island.
GriefWomanDeathIslandPersonal
At first I threw my weight upon my heels, as one does naturally in a boot, and was a good deal bruised, but after a few hours I learned the natural walk of man, and could follow my guide in any portion of the island.
GoodWalkManIslandFollowFirst
Of the things which nourish the imagination, humour is one of the most needful, and it is dangerous to limit or destroy it.
ImaginationDangerousLimitHumour
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