Quotes from Fiona Shaw

There's something about the Irish that is remarkable.

I would say the next imminent hot writers are often the writers from the decade before you were born.

I'm not afraid of chaos and I'm happy talking to strangers. I really love not knowing where I'm going.

Even when they have nothing, the Irish emit a kind of happiness, a joy.

There once was a demographic survey done to determine if money was connected to happiness and Ireland was the only place where this did not turn out to be true.

People who are good at film have a relationship with the camera.

A relationship is sent by God and accident.

I think America becomes more disgruntled by going to the movies and having an endlessly good time at them.

A lot of Irish people perform. They perform in drawing rooms. They sing songs and they play piano.

I'm not on the run from anything and I'm not at all clear about what I'm running towards. But as some great writer put it, I want to be certain that when I arrive at death, I'm totally exhausted.

To be honest I live among the English and have always found them to be very honest in their business dealings. They are noble, hard-working and anxious to do the right thing. But joy eludes them, they lack the joy that the Irish have.

The damp air eased between sheets tossed and loosened with dreams, kissing uncovered throats, slipping in with unguarded breaths to lie snugly in the lungs and wait for day.

we discovered that some great minds have the same passions, and now look where we are

he put his check to the hive. "Remember me," he said, and he made his voice smooth as smoke. "Don't wake up, just listen out in your dreams, bees, and you'll hear.

Her head burned and her thoughts danced at the edge of her mind like scraps of ash in the heat of a fire.

Sometimes he'd get annoyed at it, want to be left alone, wished he'd gone skateboarding, but mostly not.

Outside a new dark was falling, a dark Charlie didn't know yet. He walked carefully, wheeling the bike. Like everything else here, the street lamps had bigger kingdoms and the pools of shadow between them fell wider and deeper than he was used. to.

I wish they'd stop thinking that I wanted any extra man," she said, and the cat arched ever so slightly and slept on.

But Lydia's kiss had up-ended the world and Jean didn't know how to go on.

But Lydia's kiss had up-ended the world and Jean didn't know how to go on. Things were altered in a way she couldn't understand.

Bloody men. Think they've a God-given right to be better off than women. Work, marriage, divorce, the lot. They do less, get paid more and act like they own the place.

In the porch of one house Jake saw a skateboard and it made his heart jump: a Santa Cruz, one of the expensive ones. He'd begged for one for years. He looked at the house, its closed curtains. There was a child in there, maybe a boy same age as him, dreaming in a bed, who had a Santa Cruz,

From inside the thick of her grief, Lydia read. She read without lifting her eyes...only pausing when the ache in her shoulder or the pins and needles in her foot forced her to lift her eyes from the page, shift the pillows and turn the other way. Then her gaze would fall on the wallpaper with its pattern of roses and she would blink and wonder where in the world she was. Then, as she started to remember, thank God, there was the book, and she would slip under again, a sigh in her throat.

The man went back to reading the news on the screen: 'Three arrested for virus violation' … 'PM hosts Allied Security Talks', Jake read.