Gerry Adams Quotes

It will always be a batt le a day between those who want maximum change and those who want to maintain the status quo.

He’d been expelled from the movement by Gerry Adams in 1985 for threatening to initiate a campaign of murder that would have hampered the new political strategy. It was a bit like being kicked out of the Gestapo for cruelty.

Adams made a conciliatory overture and announced plans to dispatch a diplomatic mission to Paris. The three-man delegation was to include two southern Federalists, John Marshall and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, and a northern Republican, Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts, who had been a partisan of the French Revolution. “The French are no more capable of a republican government,” Adams advised Gerry, “than a snowball can exist a whole week in the streets of Philadelphia under a burning sun.

People have had enough of it. No more bombs, they say. No more shootings. No more army boys on the streets. We want something better for our weans. Them lot need to wise up and start talking to each other. I’m not sure who’s stopped talking to who. Ian Paisley’s never done talking and Gerry Adams talked so much they’ve got somebody else in to do his voice.

ERIC: She looked like Gerry Adams without the beard. BRIDGET: Ok... ERIC: It is of course hard to imagine Gerry Adams without the beard. The Gerry Adams beard is part and parcel of the Gerry Adams persona. It symbolises his revolutionary ardour, his passion for constitutional change. And now as it whitens it cements his status as eminence grise, aging philosopher-king. But without the beard he'd look like she did to me that cold autumnal morning on Cyprus Avenue. Innocent. Irrelevant. Lost.

Hamilton and McCarthy have since become the most trusted henchmen of Sinn Fein President Gerry Adams, employed as his personal bodyguards. 

Lucas McCarthy. An unknown, who kept to himself, like all future murderers. Not social contagion, but not who I would've chosen. He was lean, with a pointed chin; it gave him a slightly underfed look. He was Irish, signaled by the scruffy-short tar-black hair and pale skin. Some wags called him Gerry Adams, but not to his face because apparently his older brother was tough as nails. Lucas was looking up at me, warily, with dark, serious eyes. I was taken aback by how easily I could read his startled apprehension. Would I make any disgust toward him humiliatingly public? Was this going to be harrowing? Did he need to brace?

Gerry Adams. Price had been loosely acquainted with Adams since childhood. When they were both kids, she used to see him riding with his family on the same buses she did, to republican commemorations at Edentubber or Bodenstown. But now he had reappeared as a firebrand. The first time she recognized him on the back of a lorry, addressing a crowd, she exclaimed, “Who does Gerry think he is, standing up there?” Price found Adams intriguing, and faintly ridiculous. He was a “gawky fella with big black-rimmed glasses,” she would recall, and he had a quiet, watchful charisma. Price