If it was raining soup, the Irish would go out with forks.
Being Irish is very much a part of who I am. I take it everywhere with me.
I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.
Geographically, Ireland is a medium-sized rural island that is slowly but steadily being consumed by sheep.
You've got to think lucky. If you fall into a mudhole, check your back pocket - you might have caught a fish.
I say luck is when an opportunity comes along and you're prepared for it.
You gotta try your luck at least once a day, because you could be going around lucky all day and not even know it.
I try to be grateful for the abundance of the blessings that I have, for the journey that I'm on and to relish each day as a gift.
A blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen.
There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.
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?
Above all else, deep in my soul, I'm a tough Irishwoman.
Every St. Patrick's Day every Irishman goes out to find another Irishman to make a speech to.
Christ beside me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me.
Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.
Luck is believing you're lucky.
We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.
Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
