...early medieval Ireland sounds like a somewhat crazed Wisconsin, in which every dairy farm is an armed camp at perpetual war with its neighbors, and every farmer claims he is a king.
I said that when I looked at photographs of the firefighters who went into the Twin Towers, their faces looked to me like Irish faces. I hadn't yet learnt how careful outsiders have to be when talking about race in America, and I'd put my foot in it....
The Danes and the Irish have a great simpatico, that's for sure.
Oh, now my Erin, she'd smile down on me no matter where I walked." Grandpop smiled that little smile again. "But I'd be separated from her, and I'd feel that separation in my soul, you see?" Nathan shook his head. Grandpop sighed. "You have the Irish...
I gotta lot of Black Irish in me.
Three-quarters of my family is Irish. Of course, the 'Kazee' is not.
There's something about the Irish that is remarkable.
The Irish job was something that had to be sorted out.
I'm from durable stock. I'm made to work. I'm Irish.
Irish and Italian are my two favourite people.
I have a thing for red-haired Irish boys, as we know.
I'm just a true Irish boy at heart.
My soul is still Irish.
I'm just a loud Irish guy.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
I'm Irish and Cherokee Indian. I can't faint.
I'm Irish. I think about death all the time.
Assassin: For the blood of the Irish!
That's what the holidays are for - for one person to tell the stories and another to dispute them. Isn't that the Irish way?
Even when they have nothing, the Irish emit a kind of happiness, a joy.
My mum's parents were from Ireland, my dad's mum was American-Irish.
