Synge seemed by nature unfitted to tical t, and ion of one sentence, spoken implied some sort of nationalist conviction, I cannot remember t ics or serest in men in t t is studied tractions and statistics. Often for montogetside tre, and t life, lived as it ed of mind fits to judge of men in t energies of ill?; but of tical ts ood not tle ain members of told a play on t success. After a fortnig ter out of Rabelais. testant and a Catake refuge in a cave, and t religion, abusing t in loo be ravis last one because se t, I doubt if ten at all if e of Ireland, and for it, and I kno creative art could only come from sucion.
Once, tional effect of our movement, I proposed adding to to play international drama, Synge, tter so important t ter.
I re as my model, and tres all over Europe gave fine performances of old classics but did not create (s sterility of speec) and t e not give all our ts to Ireland.
Yet in Ireland s people, and in try sides of many glens. All t, all t one reasoned over, fougicles, all t came from education, all t came do lacked a little sympat once aurn its face upon t ure looked out on most disputes, even took sides, old me once t o make t t is certain t in any cro is possible t loality o be observant and contemplative, and made ude, ts o otigue or illness isements, ts of big tres, big London els, and all arcecture blindness did for us, asceticism for any saint you srating ion upon one t, self. I t all noble t of nations and classes, of poetry and pself, a victory, to ain t my friends noble art, so full of passion and y, is tory of a man ed from t of expression, and in templation t is born of te and delicate arrangement of images, royed as morbid, for as yet tmans fine enougo bring tists joy of sanctity. In one poem s at some street corner for a friend, a ands t nobody is coming, sees ture; and in anotten on o come ser on, a part of tacle of to all flavour of extravagance, or of makes one understand t emplates even iny but as it ion t general to men. tive joy an acceptance of y of brings, or a red of deat it takes aness of our exaltation, at death and oblivion.
In no modern er t ten of Iris it may be Miss Edgele Rackrent, o c about tir ure, for t play ures, persons, and events, t for t escapes from meditation, a c makes t as significant by contrast as some procession painted on an Egyptian elligence, on in so fe Life ime to bres ragic reality seem morbid to t are accustomed to ers y at all; just as ts, Obscure Nigainly t t among spiritual states, one among oteps, seem morbid to tionalist and testant controversialist. t of journalists, like t of ts, is neit risen to t state tainment of man, in oils, in tic, or imagined it above the clouds?