Quotes About Irish

The full Irish breakfast - cereal, juice, bread, butter, jam, eggs, sausage, bacon and blood pudding - was invented by people who worked hard outdoors for up to sixteen hours a day in all kinds of weather. They had to eat huge amounts of high-calories in order to die young and get some rest.

London in the '70s was a pretty catastrophic dump, I can tell you. We had every kind of industrial trouble we had severe energy problems we were under constant terrorist attack from Irish terrorist groups who started a bombing campaign in English cities politics were fantastically polarized between left and right.

After a rainstorm on a brilliant Sunday morning, 17 January 1960, at Lucerne's Municipal Maternity Clinic, Audrey gave birth to a sturdy, well-made son. He weighed nine and a half pounds, and they called him Sean. The Christian name was chosen because it was the Irish version of Audrey's half-brother's name, Ian, and because it meant 'Gift of God', the significance of which was not lost on all who knew the baby's mother.

Tom, you couldn't punch the froth off a Guinness.

We're Irish, Jake, which means heredity carries us halfway to madness smack out of the womb.

In boxing we're allowed to come togethwe. Protestants and Catholics, the north and south, everyone. I'm in an Irish vest, even on a mural in Tiger's Bay, because boxing brings the communities together.

My mother was Irish; she had this great sense of humor, and both my parents loved films. There was a very vibrant discourse about politics and everything that was going on in the world where I grew up. So I was genetically predisposed to go into the performing arts.

'Ulysses' is the greatest anti-racist text in the English language, and it challenges right from the beginning the vicious racism which lies near the foundations of the Irish Free State and of the Irish republic.

I'm still an Irish republican; I absolutely believe in Irish unity and am working to achieve that. But over the course of 15 years or more, people like myself and others have been working to end the vicious cycle of conflict.

I suppose British people generally, probably have very stereotypical notions about the Irish that go back to Victorian times.

Like a lot of Irish households we read a lot of Irish history. It was almost Soviet, raising the next generation with a mythic view of their history.

Do you have a distaste for the Irish?" Jack asked, staring steadily into her eyes. "Oh, no," she said dazedly. "I was just thinking... that must be why your hair is so black and your eyes so blue." "A chuisle mo chroi," he murmured, stroking the curls back from her round face. "What does that mean?" "Someday. I'll tell you. Someday.

In Chicago, you can't swing a cat without hitting an Irish pub (and angering the cat), but McAnally's place stands out from the crowd.

She was more cute than pretty, and looked like someone's favorite aunt. Which seemed likely. She had a fairly large Irish Catholic family.

I find it impossible not to believe that there's something in Irish blood that favors their power with words.

There's always some smart ass Englishmen coming over here and telling us we're mean and vulgar. I agree. But they showed their hand way back during the Irish Potato Famine as instinctual Nazis.

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

I can remember meeting of a Sunday night Charles Whibley, Kenneth Grahame, author of 'The Golden Age,' Barry Pain, now a well known novelist, R. A. M. Stevenson, art critic and a famous talker, George Wyndham, later on a cabinet minister and Irish chief secretary, and Oscar Wilde, who was some eight years or ten older than the rest.

The Irish word for fairy is sheehogue [sidheóg], a diminutive of "shee" in banshee. Fairies are deenee shee [daoine sidhe] (fairy people).

The old brown thorn trees break in two high over Cummen Strand   Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand;   Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies,   But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes   Of Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.

The Merrow, of if you write it in the Irish, Moruadh or Murúghach, from muir, sea, and oigh, a maid, is not uncommon, they say, on the wilder coasts. The fishermen do not like to see them, for it always means coming gales.

I have to thank Messrs. Macmillan, and the editors of Belgravia, All the Year Round, and Monthly Packet, for leave to quote from Patrick Kennedy's Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts, and Miss Maclintock's articles respectively; Lady Wilde, for leave to give what I would from her Ancient Legends of Ireland (Ward & Downey); and Mr. Douglas Hyde, for his three unpublished stories

I'm Irish. I think about death all the time.

You think if you worked for an Irish builder it would be better? Try it—go work for Shanley, you'll see what a lovely fellow he is. And the Italians, would they be better, you think? Steinheim shoots his mouth off—the Italians shoot guns." "And Longy Zwillman doesn't shoot guns?