The Irish always jest even though they jest with tears.

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

The kind need kindness most of all.

... 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.

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

There is an Irish way of paying compliments as though they were irresistible truths which makes what would otherwise be an impertinence delightful.

Irish people have a trick of over-statement, at which one ceases to wince as one grows older.