#ireland

Fookin' Irish, they're a race of political masochists, they love their fookin' chiefs and princes an' a strong hand belting. It's like the man said in the play, Abair and focal republic i nGaoluinn? ↗

— Gwyneth Jones

#politics #love

So does nobody care about Ireland?" "Nobody. Neither King Louis, nor King Billie, nor King James." He nodded thoughtfully. "The fate of Ireland will be decided by men not a single one of whom gives a damn about her. That is her tragedy. ↗

— Edward Rutherfurd

#england #ireland #war #men

Tom looked more and more like a rabbi. As is the way of men of character in provincial towns, he tended to become a collection of mannerisms, a caricature of himself. ↗

— Frank O'Connor

#priest #rabbis #men

Early Summer, loveliest season, The world is being colored in. While daylight lasts on the horizon, Sudden, throaty blackbirds sing. The dusty-colored cuckoo cuckoos. "Welcome, summer" is what he says. Winter's unimaginable. The wood's a wickerwork of boughs. Summer means the river's shallow, Thirsty horses nose the pools. Long heather spreads out on bog pillows. White bog cotton droops in bloom. Swallows swerve and flicker up. Music starts behind the mountain. There's moss and a lush growth underfoot. Spongy marshland glugs and stutters. Bog banks shine like ravens' wings. The cuckoo keeps on calling welcome. The speckled fish jumps; and the strong Swift warrior is up and running. A little, jumpy, chirpy fellow Hits the highest note there is; The lark sings out his clear tidings. Summer, shimmer, perfect days. ↗

— Marie Heaney

#fionn-mac-cumhaill #folklore #ireland #poetry #summer

a grin that wasn't natural, and that combined in a strange way affection and arrogance, the arrogance of the idealist who doesn't realize how easily he can be fooled. ↗

— Frank O'Connor

#idealism #idealist #ireland #nature

Romantic Ireland's dead and gone It's with O' Leary in the grave (September 1913) ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#irish-politics #yeats #romantic

Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there. ↗

— Bernie Mcgill

#historical-fiction #ireland #irish #literary-fiction #mother

Cowan son of Branieucc, you're the only one of my people that I know for sure still lives. ↗

— Sandi Layne

#historical-fiction #ireland #norway #romance #historical-romance

On the Northern Ireland question, for instance, the British and Irish governments prohibit media contact with members of the IRA, but we have always gone ahead, believing in the right to information. ↗

— Kate Adie

#always #believing #british #contact #gone

I heard you went to Ireland...I haven't seen it in many years. Is it still green then, and beautiful? Wet as a bath sponge and mud to the knees but, aye, it was green enough. ↗

— Diana Gabaldon

#ireland #beauty