Ireland, as distinct from her people, is nothing to me; and the man who is bubbling over with love and enthusiasm for “Ireland,” and can yet pass unmoved through our streets and witness all the wrong and the suffering, shame and degradation wrought upon the people of Ireland – yea, wrought by Irishmen upon Irish […]
The Irish don’t know what they want and are prepared to fight to the death to get it.
Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.
Oh the bricks they will bleed and the rain it will weep, And the damp Lagan fog lull the city to sleep, It’s to hell with the future and live on the past, May the Lord in his Mercy be Kind to Belfast.
Other Irish towns may present more picturesque forms to the eye. But Belfast is the only large Irish town in which the traveller is not disgusted by the loathsome aspect and odour of long lines of human dens far inferior in comfort and cleanliness to the dwellings which, in happier countries, are provided for cattle. […]
The Irish – Be they kings, or poets, or farmers, They’re a people of great worth, They keep company with the angels, And bring a bit of heaven here to earth.
When I told the people of Northern Ireland that I was an atheist, a woman in the audience stood up and said, “Yes, but is it the God of the Catholics or the God of the Protestants in whom you don’t believe?”
There is a story that when incoming jets throttle back for the approach to Belfast’s Aldergrove Airport, the pilots tell their passengers to put their watches back to local time – 1690.
A fine place, with rough people.
The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it; I am troubled, I’m dissatisfied, I’m Irish.