Quote

A city built upon mud A culture built upon profit Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Why should I want to go back To you, Ireland, my Ireland?

Louis MacNeice

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Louis MacNeice
Age: 55 †
Born: 1907
Born: September 12
Died: 1963
Died: September 3
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Belfast
Ireland
Frederick Louis MacNeice
Always
Speech
Decadence
City
Bud
Built
Mud
Cities
Minority
Upon
Ireland
Free
Minorities
Culture
Guilty
Back
Profit
Nipped

More quotes by Louis MacNeice

Image
World is crazier and more of it than we think, Incorrigibly plural.
Louis MacNeice
Image
And I envy the intransigence of my own Countrymen who shoot to kill and never See the victim's face become their own Or find his motive sabotage their motives.
Louis MacNeice
Image
It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppetWork your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever,But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.
Louis MacNeice
Image
I was the rector's son, born to the anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure.
Louis MacNeice
Image
I am not yet born O fill me with strength against those who would freeze my humanity.
Louis MacNeice
Image
Time was away and somewhere else, There were two glasses and two chairs And two people with one pulse.
Louis MacNeice
Image
Why do we like being Irish? Partly because It gives us a hold on the sentimental English As members of a world that never was, Baptized with fairy water
Louis MacNeice
Image
Today I am so at home in Dublin, more than in any other city, that I feel it has always been familiar to me. But, as with Belfast it took me years to penetrate its outer ugliness and dourness, so with Dublin it took me years to see through its soft charm to its bitter prickly kernel - which I quite like too.
Louis MacNeice
Image
I am not yet born O fill me With strength against those who would freeze my humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with one face, a thing
Louis MacNeice
Image
Down the road someone is practicing scales, The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails
Louis MacNeice
Image
You know the worst: your wills are fickle, Your values blurred, your hearts impure And your past life a ruined church-- But let your poison be your cure.
Louis MacNeice
Image
a fortress against ideas and against the Shuddering insidious shock of the theory-vendors The little sardine men crammed in a monster toy Who tilt their aggregate beast against our crumbling Troy.
Louis MacNeice
Image
I am not yet born Forgive me For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words When they speak me, my thoughts when they think me, My treason engendered by traitors beyound me, My life when they murder by means of my hands, my death when they live me.
Louis MacNeice
Image
World is suddener than we fancy it.
Louis MacNeice
Image
It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium, It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums. It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections, Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.
Louis MacNeice
Image
A pharaoh's profile, a Krishna's grace, tail like a question mark.
Louis MacNeice
Image
I am not yet born O hear me. Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the club-footed ghoul come near me.
Louis MacNeice
Image
None of our hearts are pure, we always have mixed motives. Are self deceivers, but the worst of all Deceits is to murmur 'Lord, I am not worthy' And, lying easy, turn your face to the wall.
Louis MacNeice
Image
There seeps from heavily jowled or hawk-like foreign faces The guttural sorrow of the refugees.
Louis MacNeice
Image
Up the Rebels, To Hell with the Pope, And God Save--as you prefer--the King or Ireland. The land of scholars and saints: Scholars and saints my eye, the land of ambush, Purblind manifestoes, never-ending complaints
Louis MacNeice