I have often heard it said that the Irish are too ready to forgive. It is a noble failing.

... Hope is at the bottom of the Pandora's box of Irish troubles, and I believe proudly and firmly in the ultimate destinies of my country.

The trouble with the Irish question always has been that it was an English question.

Religion dies hard in the Irish.

January has only one thing to be said for it: it is followed by February. Nothing so well becomes its passing.

To be a saint does not exclude fine dresses nor a beautiful house.

the way with Ireland is that no sooner do you get away from her than the golden mists begin to close about her, and she lies, an Island of the Blest, something enchanted in our dreams. When you come back you may think you are disillusioned, but you know well that the fairy mists will begin to gather about her once more.