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most people have a lot they want to say and not that much they want to hear. ”
It was the kind of dull dreary Friday morning that Dublin did so well. The sky was the colour of wet newspaper, and it seemed to be bleeding into the day, making everything look like a bad photocopy of itself. Every passing face had that stoic commuter’s grimace; marching ever forward, towards the promised land of the weekend. It was raining, the kind of fine misty rain that meant even if you had an umbrella, you’d reach your destination to discover you were still inexplicably wet.
The poor lad hadn’t known where to look but he kept looking there anyway.
Brigit threw the car around a corner whilst still in third gear, and a pedestrian narrowly avoided becoming a statistic.
you can always tell a Leitrim girl, but you can’t tell her much.
“You don’t understand anything but it sure as hell doesn’t stop you talking, does it?”
Marriage, thought Stewart, was all about compromise. Compromise and lying. The right kind of lying.
he was dotting the ‘I’s and crossing the ‘T’s, waiting for the S and the H to show up.
At times like this, it was hard for him to run from the suspicion that he might be an idiot.
Children could be so cruel, although in Phil’s case, thanks to his fundamentally flawed design, it was fair to say God had started it.
it was very hard to enjoy the scenery while simultaneously being terrified of colliding with it.
