Sleep is uncanny, I have always found it so, a nightly dress-rehearsal for being dead. — John Banville
Throughout the 1960s and 1970s devoted Beckett readers greeted each successively shorter — John Banville
Given the world that he created, it would be an impiety against God to believe in him. — John Banville
Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous; gray light streaking each bare branch, each single — John Banville