O, the red rose may be fair, And the lily statelier; But my shamrock, one in three Takes the very heart of me!

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

It's a strange thing now how people will know they're dying themselves when no one else could suspect anything wrong at all with them.

The Irish always jest even though they jest with tears.

The life in which nothing happens goes the fastest, because it has no landmarks.

O, the red rose may be fair, And the lily statelier; But my shamrock, one in three Takes the very heart of me!

... 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.