"'Oh, Ireland, my first and only love, Where Christ and Caesar are hand in glove!' the great
James Joyce declared. Has any man ever loved his homeland as much as he did? He considered the landscape over and over in every piece of writing. It makes sense, though, that Ireland is richer than most countries in literature and art, giving the world some of the brightest talents it has ever known. Even tighter than a wide nation, some of the best minds even gathered in the same pub. Some cities have absolutely desecrated their literary history. Once beloved watering holes where writers would cosy up in the corner with their notepads are now Wetherspoons, or especially in the case of London, have been overrun by suits ruining the meditative, creative peace with rants about their finance jobs or loud football reactions. ..."
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