Apostles of Freedom are ever idolised when dead, but crucified when alive.

There can be no perfect Europe in which Ireland is denied even the least of its national rights.

Irish tory employers hid[e] their sweatshops behind orange flags, and Irish home rule landlords us[e] the green sunburst of Erin to cloak their rack-renting in the festering slums of our Irish towns.

Whenever the clergy succeeded in conquering political power in any country, the result has been disastrous to the interests of religion and inimical to the progress of humanity.

Apostles of Freedom are ever idolised when dead, but crucified when alive.

No revolutionary movement is complete without its poetical expression.

We, at least, are not loyal men: we confess to having more respect and honour for the raggedest child of the poorest labourer in Ireland today than for any, even the most virtuous, descendant of the long array of murderers, adulterers and madmen who have sat upon the throne of England.