Kitty Kiernan: Is it true, Mick, that all of the women in America wear trousers? 
Michael Collins: Absolutely! Shameless hussies, the lot o’ them. 

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realise.

And life was black-and-white; the Technicolor was just around the corner, but it wasn’t there yet in 1959. That’s why you have music. If you can’t say it, sing it. Listen to the songs of the period. Heavily pointed and romantic, and trying to say things that they couldn’t say in prose or even on paper. Weathers fine, 7:30 p.m., wind has died down, P.S. I love you.

Sex. In America, an obsession. In other parts of the world, a fact.

“You talk to God, you’re religious. God talks to you, you’re psychotic.” 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart).