Quotes About Irish

But finally we found the place—an Irish pub, as seedy as the roughest ones on the backstreets of Galway.

YOU—THE IRISH GIRL. OVER HERE." A THIN, SCOWLING MATRON in a white bonnet beckons with a bony finger. She must know I'm Irish from the papers Mr. Schatzman filled out when he brought me in to the Children's Aid several weeks ago—or perhaps it is my accent, still as thick as peat. "Humph," she says, pursing her lips, when I stand in front of her. "Red hair.

Feeding Carmine bread soaked in milk reminds me of the Irish dish called champ I often made for Maisie and the boys—a mash of potatoes, milk, green onions (on the rare occasion when we had them), and salt. On the nights when we went to bed hungry, all of us dreamed of that champ.

So, success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever; Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, And bothered them forever!

Look at me, man, look at me and tell me I don't know what I'm about. I'm Conor Larkin. I'm an Irishman and I've had enough.

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.

My usual trick with the Irish plays is to set things on islands I've never been to.

'Lollipop Opera' is the backdrop to Finsbury Park. A place that is very thriving, interracial and lot of music stores, Greek, Turkish, all sorts of immigrant music. It's utter Englishness. It blends the Jamaicans, the Irish. It's like what Jim Reeves did with American country music.

The only way to get to that next peak is to be ready for that next valley. Being raised Irish, you know to always be ready for the bad times.

I find being Irish quite a wearing thing. It takes so much work because it is a social construction. People think you are going to be this, this, and this.

O'Casey was writing about people in the streets and his mother and dying babies and poverty. So that astounded me because I thought you could only write about English matters.

Cursing is heavily used in the Irish language. It's not a stretch for me, and I have no qualms about it. It doesn't fall far from the real me.

I think there is a very strong sense of Irish identity, and I think partly that's to do with the fact that we have evolved differently from Britain and other countries in Europe.

I have drawn inspiration from the Marine Corps, the Jewish struggle in Palestine and Israel, and the Irish.

I come from a big Irish family who force-fed me as a kid, so not eating was never an option.

Yeats was 18th-century oratory, almost.

My last name is originally Irish. I'm not exactly sure whereabouts it's from, but I've got family branches that were traced back there.

When I was a kid, if you didn't speak Irish, you really wanted to. And you played Gaelic games and you didn't pay any attention to what was happening in the outside world, because really, Ireland was the center of the universe. And I don't think that's the case anymore. Although, admittedly, it is the center of the universe.

The survival of a distinct Irish soul is proof enough that Anglo culture will never fully satisfy our needs. We have a unique role in reshaping American society to empathize with the world's poor, for their story is the genuine story of the Irish.

I was beginning to understand how the Irish mentality worked. The more foolish, illogical or surreal one's actions were perceived t be (and mine surely fell into one of these categories), the wider the arms of hospitality were opened in salutation.

SAIORSE From Saiorse, a name of Irish origin, Meaning 'freedom' Faces problems head on Admired for its originality, dedicated to worthy causes A kind and generous fridge It always stands firm for its principles It does not have to get its own way always Others think it is an extremely clever fridge From Matt Molloys Pub May 20th 1997

Stephen came on deck reflecting with satisfaction upon his sloth, now a parlour-boarder with the Irish Franciscans at Rio, and a secret drinker of the altar-wine.

Let us drink to the renewed success of Irish arms, and confusion to the Pope.

But there is a singular connection between Samuel Beckett, "the grammarian of solitude," sunk in his comical Irish gloom, hiding in a tiny apartment in Paris, and the condition of Manuel Othón, the late-nineteenth-century Mexican recluse, brooding in the parched wasteland in the middle of Mexico. Seemingly at a loss for words around 1900, Othón, in a despairing poem, wrote the Beckett-like line "the desert, the desert and the desert.