Religion dies hard in the Irish.

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

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.

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

Often our bad moments are self-propelled ... And the drama is almost exclusively within our heads and hearts.

... 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 Irish always jest even though they jest with tears.