Quotes about irish

Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.

Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar and fat.

The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad, For all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad.

Bí ann nó astáimse ag triall Ortagus má tácuirim geasa Ortmé a shábháilón dreama deirgur fear fuarsa spéir Thú.

Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.

Irish people marry late, as a rule. We have that potato-famine DNA from the old country, that mentality where you don't give birth to anything until you have the potatoes all stored up to feed it. My ancestors were all shepherds who got married in their thirties and then stayed together for life, who had long and happy marriages, no doubt because they were already deaf. My grandparents courted for nine years before they married in 1933.

Say what you said before again. The Irish thing. I want to say it back to you."He smiled. Took her hand. "You'll never pronounce it.""Yes, I will."Still smiling, he said it slowly, waited for her to fumble through. But her eyes stayed steady and serious as she brought his hand to her heart, laid hers on his, and repeated the words.She saw emotion move over his face. His heart leaped hard against her hand. "You undo me, Eve."He sat up, dropped his brow against hers. "Thank God for you," he murmur

For you can't hear Irish tunes without knowing you're Irish, and wanting to pound that fact into the floor.

Wherever they went the Irish brought with them their books, many unseen in Europe for centuries and tied to their waists as signs of triumph, just as Irish heroes had once tied to their waists their enemies' heads. Where they went they brought their love of learning and their skills in bookmaking. In the bays and valleys of their exile, they reestablished literacy and breathed new life into the exhausted literary culture of Europe.And that is how the Irish saved civilization.

Shamrocks And roses In an ever green flock Now Up to your noses Turning into a high stock! People nice and seen All around you green! These lucky streams Realizing major dreams. In strives, when in pain Call oh call up my name, Know it isn't in vain...

Lunch looks grand, Meg. You’ve really outdone yourself,” James commented, loading his plate. He frowned down at an escaping carrot extending precariously over the plate edge andeased it back with his fingertip, then grunted and promptly stuck the burnt digit in his mouth. “I’ve been trying to eat better, organic and all. Are these vegetables free range?” he asked with a straight face.The table fell silent as several sets of eyes blinked owlishly back at him. With an equally straight face Beth sp

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.

Katie shook her head in dismay. “I thought being poor was the worst thing that could happen to a girl.”“No, Katie,” the countess said in a clear voice. “The worst thing is to be in love with one man and have to marry another.”Katie O'Reilly to the Countess of Marbury in "Titanic Rhapsody

Skip your fancy talk, Captain Lord Blackthorn. If I do your bidding, and I’m still discussing that with the Almighty, it will only be to save my arse.” Katie O'Reilly to Captain Lord Jack Blackthorn in "Titanic Rhapsody

I was born Katie O’Reilly,” she began. “Poor Irish, but proud of it. I boarded the Titanic at Queenstown as a third class passenger with nothing more than the clothes on my back. And the law at my heels.” Titanic Rhapsody

You were so intent on what your purpose would be. I remember it nearly word for word.""Recite it for me then, my Lainna."She smiled a warm, soft smile, and her eyes filled with light."You would waken in your bedchamber with your lady beside you...

Our place is here, our time is now!" Killian firmly declared.

I've no plans to couple with anyone other than my new bride for the next century or so, and it feels as though it's takin' a century to get to it!

As she glanced down at the great distance to the ground below, she whispered in his ear, "You have obviously taken the heights of passion to an entirely new level, Killian O'Brien!

I'm not singing for the future I'm not dreaming of the past I'm not talking of the fist time I never think about the last

Cad é an mhaith dom eagla a bheith orm? Ní shaorfadh eagla duine ón mbás, dar ndóigh.

I knew one boy who passed through several schools a dunce and a laughing-stock; the National Board and the Intermediate Board had sat in judgment upon him and had damned him as a failure before men and angels. Yet a friend and fellow-worker of mine discovered that he was gifted with a wondrous sympathy for nature, that he loved and understood the ways of plants, that he had a strange minuteness and subtlety of observation—that, in short, he was the sort of boy likely to become an accomplished bo

Some men never recover from education.

There was always a big party on the night before anyone left for the States. They called it an American wake, because the whole community stayed up to keep the emigrants company through their last night on the island, just as they would have bidden farewell to a soul beginning the long journey towards eternity. There was almost no chance that anyone present would ever see the departed again

Oh, trust me Sydney Tar Ponds, you aren’t the first Personification to be forgotten by somebody ordinary,” Mearth sighed with a falsely-reassuring smile. Alecto stepped back from her, glaring hatefully. “Sydney Tar Ponds,” Mearth added, “I’ve had so many ordinary people as friends in my life that by now I’ve forgotten all their names. At first it was difficult… very sad… to see them always leaving, dying, disappearing, ignoring, but after a while I realized that they weren’t worth the trouble. I

All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.

The writing style which is most natural for you is bound to echo the speech you heard when a child. English was the novelist Joseph Conrad's third language, and much of that seems piquant in his use of English was no doubt colored by his first language, which was Polish. And lucky indeed is the writer who has grown up in Ireland, for the English spoken there is so amusing and musical. I myself grew up in Indianapolis, where common speech sounds like a band saw cutting galvanized tin, and employs

... I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.- Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.- Wine of the country, says he.- What's yours? says Joe.- Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.- Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he.

I think being a woman is like being Irish... Everyone says you're important and nice, but you take second place all the time.

What can I say? I'm Irish, I love a good potato.

If Canada had a soul (a doubtful proposition, Moses thought) then it wasn't to be found in Batoche or the Plains of Abraham or Fort Walsh or Charlottetown or Parliament Hill, but in The Caboose and thousands of bars like it that knit the country together from Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, to the far side of Vancouver Island.

Americans may say they love our accents (I have been accused of sounding 'like Princess Di') but the more thoughtful ones resent and rather dislike us as a nation and people, as friends of mine have found out by being on the edge of conversations where Americans assumed no Englishmen were listening.And it is the English, specifically, who are the targets of this. Few Americans have heard of Wales. All of them have heard of Ireland and many of them think they are Irish. Scotland gets a sort of fr

Because you’re not a one-night girl, Irish.” (...) “You’re my forever girl.

Let justice be done tho the heavens fall.

I'm Irish yet I don't drink as I refuse to be a stereotype and live down to the expectations of others.

Her smile increased. She had perfect white regular teeth; Irish, Juliana decided. Only Irish blood could give that jawline such femininity.

Author? Author? Did you write these legs?''Yes."'Well, I don't like dem. I don't like 'em at all at all. I could ha' writted better legs meself.

The Celt, and his cromlechs, and his pillar-stones, these will not change much – indeed, it is doubtful if anybody at all changes at any time. In spite of hosts of deniers, and asserters, and wise-men, and professors, the majority still are adverse to sitting down to dine thirteen at a table, or being helped to salt, or walking under a ladder, of seeing a single magpie flirting his chequered tale. There are, of course, children of light who have set their faces against all this, although even a

She let her mind drift, thinking about new lingerie designs, wishing she'd brought along her sketchpad. Inspiration could strike at the most inconvenient times--in the shower, in the car, on this road--but she was grateful it was with her again, an old companion with whom she was getting reacquainted, pleased to find they could take up where they'd left off, as if there'd been no estrangement at all.

Irish improves a poet.

I give you my love & my luck. Don't throw either away.

Oh, now my Erin, she'd smile down on me no matter where I walked." Grandpop smiled that little smile again. "But I'd be separated from her, and I'd feel that separation in my soul, you see?"Nathan shook his head.Grandpop sighed. "You have the Irish eyes, boy. One of these days, you'll see from eyes, not your own, feel with a heart outside your chest. Wild Irish eyes. Nathan. When you love, love well and love true, and take care, lad, because those Irish eyes are windows into not just your own so

more guilt, guilt, guilt. That's the Irish condition.

Father, I can’t take this,” I said. “Why not?” “Because you’re a priest, Father.” “And my money’s no good because of it? What are you? A member of the Masonic Lodge?” “Naw, Father,” I said. “I just feel guilty taking money from you.” “Well, you’re Irish and Jewish. You have to feel guilty over somethin’, don’t ya? Take the money and be happy ye have it.

Damn it all, MacMurrough, are you telling me you are an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort?’‘If you mean am I Irish, the answer is yes.

We are the rocks and reefs of the human sea, tumultuous outcrops, magnets for wrecks. The peaks of mountains you cannot see: that's us, all right. Dark even on the brightest day. Stony and defiant of the prevailing currents until we are eventually worn down and dissolved. Sometimes soaked and sometimes dry as a bone. Hammered by tides and grimly standing our ground against the pounding. Probably even secretly enjoying the pounding.

The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.

Margaret looked at the ring on her finger. "Gran gave me this before we boarded the ship. It's the most special thing in the world to me. I'll never take it off, Hanna. No matter how hungry I am.

Atty’s eyes rested on Darby with all the subtlety of a dog watching his food bowl being filled!

Tír gan teanga, tír gan anam. A country without a language is a country without a soul.

He had been thinking of how landscape moulds a language. It was impossible to imagine these hills giving forth anything but the soft syllables of Irish, just as only certain forms of German could be spoken on the high crags of Europe; or Dutch in the muddy, guttural, phlegmish lowlands.

...that it is not the literal past, the 'facts' of history, that shape us, but images of the past embodied in language.

Up and down' is Irish for anything at all--from crying into the dishes to full-blown psychosis. Though, now that I think about, a psychotic is more usually 'not quite herself'.

She knew them by their thick woven cloaks, their hanging hair and beards, and their Anglisc voices: words drumming like apples spilt over wooden boards, round, rich, stirring. Like her father’s words, and her mother’s, and her sister’s. Utterly unlike Onnen’s otter-swift British or the dark liquid gleam of Irish. Hild spoke each to each. Apples to apples, otter to otter, gleam to gleam, though only when her mother wasn’t there.

I remember when I was a kid, seven years old maybe eight, I had an Irish girl who was taking care of us. Stereotypically named Maureen, about nineteen years old or twenty years old. She came upon me one day with my soldiers all set-up having a battle. Romans against Celts. She said, "Who's going to win?" I said, "The Romans are going to win, Romans always beat the Celts." She said, "Oh, really? What language are they currently speaking in Italy?" She says, "Bear in mind, back at home, we're stil

More than loud acclaim, I loveBooks, silence, thought, my alcove.Pangur BánPoem by Anon Irish Monk, Translated by Seamus Heaney

So go love someone that wants to love you back. Whoever that lad is will be one lucky person.

I turned on the water then returned to the door jamb. “That’s not fair, you’re nice and clean.”“I am?” He took a few steps toward me.“Aren’t you?”“No,” he scowled and shook his head. “I’m dirty. But you knew that.” Now, if you haven’t heard an Irishman say the word “dirty” before, I will compare it with dynamite in your ovaries. They say it with like, seven Rs.

An cinniúnt, is dócha: féach an féileacán úd thall atá ag foluain os cionn mo choinnle. Ní fada go loiscfear a sciatháin mhaiseacha: cá bhfios dúinne nach bhfuil a fhios sin aige, freisin?

Hating is easy. It's loving that's hard

Irish and English are so widely separated in their mode of expression that nothing like a literal rendering from one language to the other is possible.

I just wasn't cut out to be a Chinese Tiger Mom. I'm more of an Irish Setter Dad.

The gun is not out of Irish politics.

Ninety percent I'll spend on good times, women and Irish Whiskey. The other ten percent I'll probably waste.

I'm Irish, so I'm used to odd stews. I can take it. Just throw a lot of carrots and onions in there and I'll call it dinner.

The Irish Republican Army has kept every commitment made by its leadership.

Corned beef and cabbage and leprechaun men.Colorful rainbows hide gold at their end.Shamrocks and clovers with three leaves plus one.Dress up in green—add a top hat for fun.Steal a quick kiss from the lasses in red.A tin whistle tune off the top of my head.Friends, raise a goblet and offer this to

It’s simply this:the Irish kiss,a snog o’ bliss,be blessed luckfrom any miss.

Be sure to wear greenon March seventeen,or else Irish leprechauns pinch your bones clean!

I shall ne'er chase rainbows again, Knowing no pot o' gold awaits at the end. My Irish treasure is not there. For ye, my love, abide with me here.

You're a Scott," the Dark said, his lips peeled back in displeasure, as if just saying the word was revolting."And you're Irish. I'm so glad we got that settled.

When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.

To anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like their mother. It's the only thing that lasts, that's worth working for, for fighting for...

The earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the emptied cloudless sky. A small boy, stretching out his hands and looking up at the blue sky, asked his mother how such a thing was possible. Fuck off, she said.

The Irish way of telling a story is a complex and elaborate one, complete with wild exaggerations, a certain delight in improbable fantasy, and a heightened sense of drama.

Imagine if we were all magical leprechauns, and every wish ever made on a four-leaf clover obliged us to help others obtain their wishes. Now imagine if people simply lived like this were true.

Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night,” I said. The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?” “I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.” “Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?” “I’d certainly like to.” “A

On the floor beside the spare pillow that had tumbled from the bed in her sleep was a single yellow flower. Five heart-shaped petals. As fresh and as pure as if it were in full bloom in a summer meadow.Drowsy and mind-fogged, she crept downstairs to look for a book on Irish wildflowers. It took her a while to find anything that resembled the yellow flower, but eventually she found an image and description that matched: "Cinquefoil, a flower renowned for its healing properties and a flower also s

After a taste of a Scot, you'll never look elsewhere again."A brunette smiled seductively, "That's quite a boast.""I'm quite a man.

There was a dark aura about him, a hint of caged power in that deceptively casual, sprawled poise. Danger personified.If this had been a film she would have expected to hear the warning wail of an electric guitar creep over the soft background bustle of the city.

Bailey went quiet, her expression softening. "You're right," she finally said. "It wouldn't have been smart.""Well, fuck me -- are you actually admitting that I was right about something?""It's like an eclipse," she muttered. "Happens every so often.

Is he always like this?" she said irritably. "Flying by the seat of his pants?""Pretty much, yeah." Oliver grinned. "He's not a planner. But he happens to be the best improviser I've ever known.

He kissed her like he owned her, and in that moment, he did. The kiss was rough and punishing, his tongue forcing her lips open and sweeping into her mouth with greedy precision. Electricity raced up Bailey's spine, red-hot and powerful, as powerful as the deep strokes of Sean's tongue and his tight grip on her waist."You want me," he muttered into her lips...

That was it. To be a rolling stone. In the romantic places of the earth. Ready for a fight, a frolic, or a feed. And since I was Irish, since I was Billy Hamill's son, since I was from Brooklyn: a drink too.

… in these new days and in these new pages a philosophical tradition of the spontaneity of speculation kind has been rekindled on the sacred isle of Éire, regardless of its creative custodian never having been taught how to freely speculate, how to profoundly question, and how to playfully define. Spontaneity of speculation being synonymous with the philosophical-poetic, the philosophical-poetic with the rural philosopher-poet, and by roundelay the rural philosopher-poet thee with the spontaneit

If it’s only a kiss you want, I can kiss you with my clothes on.” Katie O'Reilly to Captain Lord Blackthorn in "Titanic Rhasody.

Lost: Heartbeat. Last seen being chased away by an Irishman’s shameless grin. Reward if returned.

Kate giggled. “Excellent choice.”“I always make excellent choices.”“I don’t know about that.”“Of course I do. I picked ye, didn’t I?

Let the Moon and the Stars pour their healing light on you...

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, The foresight to know where you are going, And the insight to knowwhen you have gone too far

Many people die of thirst but the Irish are born with one.

My people - before I was changed - they exchanged this as a sign of devotion. It's a Claddagh ring. The hands represent friendship; the crown represents loyalty... and the heart... Well, you know... Wear it with the heart pointing towards you. It means you belong to somebody. Like this.

To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart.

It's not that the Irish are cynical. It's rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody.

We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.

Being Irish, I always had this love of words.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

Being Irish is very much a part of who I am. I take it everywhere with me.