I composed habits for those acres so that my last look would be neither gluttonous nor starved. I was ready to go anywhere. - Seamus Heaney

Which would be better, what sticks or what falls through? Or does the choice itself create the value?

Is there life before death? That’s chalked up

In Ballymurphy. Competence with pain,

Coherent miseries, a bite and a sup,

We hug our little destiny again.

Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed
offerings to idols, swore oaths that the killer of souls might come to their aid and save the people. That was their way, their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts they remembered hell.