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

The kind need kindness most of all.

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

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.

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.

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