Quotes from Brian Friel

I was a member of the Nationalist Party for several years. I don't remember how long. Those were very dreary days, because the Nationalist Party... it's hard to describe what it was. I suppose it held on to some kind of little faith, you know? It wasn't even sure what the faith was, and it was a very despised enterprise by everybody.

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

To remember everything is a form of madness.

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

Yes, it is a rich language, Lieutenant, full of the mythologies of fantasy and hope and self-deception - a syntax opulent with tomorrows. It is our response to mud cabins and a diet of potatoes; our only method of replying to... inevitabilities.

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

But remember that words are signals, counters. They are not immortal. And it can happen - to use an image you'll understand - it can happen that a civilisation can be imprisoned in a linguistic contour which no longer matches the landscape of... fact.

Even if I did speak Irish, I'd always be considered an outsider here, wouldn't I? I may learn the password but the language of the tribe will always elude me, won't it? The private core will always be ...hermetic, won't it?

No matter how long the sun may linger on his long and weary journey, at length evening comes with its sacred song.

I went on to propose that our own culture and the classical tongues made a happier conjugation [...] English, I suggested, couldn't really express us.

Dancing as if language had surrendered to movement - as if this ritual, this wordless ceremony, was now the way to speak, to whisper private and sacred things, to be in touch with some otherness. Dancing as if the very heart of life and all its hopes might be found in those assuaging notes and those hushed rhythms and in those silent and hypnotic movements. Dancing as if language no longer existed because words were no longer necessary...

Come on man, speak in English. For the benefit of the colonist? He's a decent man. Aren't they all at some level?

A-that it is not the literal past, the 'facts ' of history, that shape us, but images of that past embodied in language. B-we must never cease renewing those images; because once we do, we fossilise.

Say anything at all – I love the sound of your speech.

He then explained that he does not speak Irish. Latin? I asked. None. Greek? Not a syllable. He speaks - on his own admission - only English; and to his credit he seemed suitably verecund - James? Verecundus - humble.

I love you Aggie… more than chocolate biscuits.

How did I get involved? As a young man I chanced to flirt with it and it possessed me.

I had some envy of the man who could use the word "chicanery" with such confidence.

And he wants to bring me up to the back hills next Sunday - up to Lough Anna. His father has a boat there. And I'm thinking maybe I'll bring a bottle of milk with me. And I've enough money saved to buy a packet of chocolate biscuits.

I love you, Aggie! I love you more than chocolate biscuits!

Stand your ground! Don't move! Don't panic! This is your city! This is your city!

I had grandparents who were native Irish speakers, and also, two of the four grandparents were illiterate.

I know now why I stopped writing short stories. It was at the point when I recognised how difficult they were.