Irish Blessings Quotes

Blessed art thou among women.” Who can’t relate to a line like that? It’s just saying you’re one holy chick and everyone, even God, is totally into you.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. May the rains fall soft upon your fields, and until we meet again, May the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand. Irish blessing

One thing I've found... the road rarely rises up to meet you until you've begun walking.

May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten.” – Irish Blessing

May you always have A sunbeam to warm you, A moonbeam to charm you, A sheltering angel so nothing can harm you. An Irish Blessing

Here's a new 'Blessing' for our time -- 'May Anderson Cooper never be sent to report on your town!

May your neighbors respect you, Trouble neglect you, The angels protect you, And heaven accept you. Irish blessing

May you always walk in sunshine. May you never want for more. May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door. Irish blessing

As in the old Irish blessing, may God give you, for every storm, a rainbow; for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise; a blessing for every trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share; for every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for every prayer.

May you get all your wishes but one, So you always have something to strive for. Irish blessing

May there always be work for your hands to do. May your purse always hold a coin or two. May the sun always shine on your windowpane. May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain. Irish blessing

May your troubles be less And your blessings be more And nothing but happiness Come through your door. Irish blessing

Grant me a sense of humor, Lord, the saving grace to see a joke, To win some happiness from life, And pass it on to other folks.

May you always have a friend that is worth that name. Irish blessing

May your blessings outnumber The shamrocks that grow. And may trouble avoid you Wherever you go. Irish blessing

May God give you . . . For every storm, a rainbow, for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise, and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share. For every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for each prayer. Irish blessing

May God give you . . . For every storm, a rainbow, for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise, and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share. For every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for each prayer. Irish blessing

It’s simply this: the Irish kiss, a snog o’ bliss, be blessed luck from any miss.

But he calls down a blessing on the blossom of the may, Because it comes in beauty, and in beauty blows away.

May God give you…For every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share, for every sigh a sweet song and an answer for each prayer. —Irish Blessing

May flowers always line your path and sunshine light your day. May songbirds serenade you every step along the way. May a rainbow run beside you in a sky that's always blue. And may happiness fill your heart each day your whole life through.  An Irish Blessing

Some people come into your life as blessings, and others come in your life as lessons. You are both to me.

May those that love us, love us. And those that don’t love us, May God turn their hearts. And if he doesn’t turn their hearts, May he turn their ankles, So we’ll know them by their limping.

Aidan pulled away and stared intently at her. His blue eyes blazed with intensity. “Listen to me. You have every right to be scared, but I want you to believe me when I say that Noah is going to be fine. He’s blessed with some strong as hell genes.” Placing his hand on her belly, he smiled. “He’s part Fitzgerald, and for generations, the men of my family have been known for being tough, scrappy fighters with a will of iron to survive.” “Really?” she questioned with a hiccup. Aidan nodded. “But even more than the fighting Irish Fitzgerald blood pumping through him, he’s inherited the most amazing DNA from his mother. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.

When you look out across the fields And you both see the same star Pitching its tent on the point of the steeple — That is the time to set out on your journey, With half a loaf and your mother’s blessing. Leave behind the places that you knew: All that you leave behind you will find once more, You will find it in the stories; The sleeping beauty in her high tower With her talking cat asleep Solid beside her feet — you will see her again. When the cat wakes up he will speak in Irish and Russian And every night he will tell you a different tale About the firebird that stole the golden apples, Gone every morning out of the emperor’s garden, And about the King of Ireland’s Son and the Enchanter’s Daughter. The story the cat does not know is the Book of Ruth And I have no time to tell you how she fared When she went out at night and she was afraid, In the beginning of the barley harvest, Or how she trusted to strangers and stood by her word: You will have to trust me, she lived happily ever after.

May the road rise to meet you May the wind be always at your back May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home And may the hand of a friend always be near. May green be the grass you walk on, May blue be the skies above you, May pure be the joys that surround you, May true be the hearts that love you. —Traditional Irish Blessing

I’m very proud of the young woman you’ve become. Your happiness is tantamount to mine, and so I send you off on this matrimonial journey with an Irish blessing: May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, and your hearts joined forever in love. To the bride and groom.

When you make a wee wish on a green four-leafed clover, may your belly stay full and your cup runneth over.

There’s an Irish blessing that I think fits well here,” Kathleen said. “May love and laughter light your days, and warm your heart and home.

IRISH BLESSING   And may I conclude with a little Irish blessing – although, some suggest it’s a curse: May those who love us, love us. And those who don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles so we’ll know them by their limping. Speech on Administrative Goals to Senior Presidential Appointees, September 8, 1987

Over the years, Gwen had found there were two kinds of men. Men who made eating a woman an art form because they were average—or barely—in size so they had to compensate. And men who were hung like horses but felt that nine-incher somehow exempted them from one of her favorite forms of entertainment. Yet somehow that Irish luck that had kept Gwen alive all these years deigned to reward on her the highest blessing a woman could hope for. A well-hung man who loved to give his woman head.

His mom lived in Long Island for ten years or so. God rest her soul. And- although, she's- wait- your mom's still- your mom's still alive. Your dad passed. God bless her soul." --Joe Biden, on the mother of Irish Prime Minister Brian Cowen, who is very much alive, Washington, D.C., March 17, 2010

Always and Forever was about a love bond so strong that it transcends physical limitations and worlds. Love survived death for both Katie and Ronan and Katie the ghost moves between worlds. In death she remained the protector and the strong one in the marriage. A love divinely blessed in church as a marriage and God appointed Katie as his angel to watch over him and sent her as his angel of death to carry him to heaven. Ronan after Katie’s death became a medium between Katie and the outside world. He saw her and can talk to her

braid

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your field. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand. Today in celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day, we welcome some traditional Irish blessings. May these gentle prayers settle into your soul like a sweet, soft mantra of comfort and serenity.

When I first met my wife, who is no longer with us; God bless her and a fine one she, I didn’t have the words to tell her anything, no, nothing at all,” he shook his head with a nostalgic smile. “We’re not one for spilling the soul around here, and you’d be best not looking for it,” he said.

We are above all things loved--that is the good news of the gospel--and loved not just the way we turn up on Sundays in our best clothes and on our best behavior and with our best feet forward, but loved as we alone know ourselves to be, the weakest and shabbiest of what we are along with the strongest and gladdest. To come together as people who believe that just maybe this gospel is actually true should be to come together like people who have just won the Irish Sweepstakes. It should have us throwing our arms around each other like people who have just discovered that every single man and woman in those pews is not just another familiar or unfamiliar face but is our long-lost brother and our long-lost sister because despite the fact that we have all walked in different gardens and knelt at different graves, we have all, humanly speaking, come from the same place and are heading out into the same blessed mystery that awaits us all. This is the joy that is so apt to be missing, and missing not just from church but from our own lives--the joy of not just managing to believe at least part of the time that it is true that life is holy, but of actually running into that holiness head-on.

Ava was blessed with amazing beauty but was academically challenged. Angelina tried to give her a quick introduction to computers but was horrified at Ava’s lack of knowledge and complete failure to understand. Ava called the CD drawer the cup holder and honestly thought it was her holding her coffee or drink when typing. She thought the monitor was the telly and the mouse was the roller. She kept exiting programmes instead of closing documents and kept deleting items and forgetting to save things. Things happened Angelina’s computers that never happened before: programs failed to respond and the computer kept crashing. She typed e-mails and then printed them and put them in an envelope to post them, Angelina was speechless. She even killed a machine by constant abuse for the week. It just died the screen went blank and a message came up of fundamental hard drive failure, the monitor went black and the keyboard and mouse went dead and could not be restored. It went to the computer scrap yard, RIP. Angelina ran her out of the IT dept in their firm terrified she’d cause any more mayhem. She was the absolute blonde bombshell when it came to computers

Before the Irish, no people had ever submitted to the Christian gospel who had not first submitted to Roman rule. The Irish were a fierce people. They had never bowed to the yoke of a foreign ruler. Why, then, did they yield to a bishop? One of the Patrick legends may give a clue. Patrick came upon two brothers whose quarrel over their inheritance had just turned into a swordfight. Moved by “pity of these unpitying men” (a most Patrician sentiment), Patrick froze the two brothers in mid-blow. Thus immobilized, the men had no choice but to listen to the gospel of peace as presented by the saint. Having heard his speech, the quarrelsome brothers “returned unto the mutual kindness of brotherly love,” received Patrick’s blessing, and together decided to build a church where once they had tried to kill one another.

The cook whistled in the kitchen. She heard the click of the typewriter. It was her life, and, bending her head over the hall table, she bowed beneath the influence, felt blessed and purified, saying to herself, as she took the pad with the telephone message on it, how moments like this are buds on the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are, she thought (as if some lovely rose had blossomed for her eyes only); not for a moment did she believe in God; but all the more, she thought, taking up the pad, must one repay in daily life to servants, yes, to dogs and canaries, above all to Richard her husband, who was the foundation of it—of the gay sounds, of the green lights, of the cook even whistling, for Mrs. Walker was Irish and whistled all day long—one must pay back from this secret deposit of exquisite moments, she thought, lifting the pad, while Lucy stood by her, trying to explain how

H-22: Father Corby Monument 39º48.205’N, 77º14.063’W This monument honors the hundreds of chaplains present on the field in 1863. As chaplain of the Eighty-eighth New York Infantry of the famed Irish Brigade, Father William Corby, twenty-nine years old, has become as famous as many of those who actually bore arms those three fateful days. As the Irish Brigade formed up to enter the fight, Father Corby stepped onto a boulder—some historians believe the very boulder on which the monument stands—and raised his hand. Three hundred soldiers drew silent, many of them dropping to their knees, as the battle raged around them. The priest blessed them, prayed for their safety, and granted a general absolution, after which the troops marched into the fight. Corby’s admonition that the church would refuse a Christian burial for any man who failed to do his duty that day rang in their ears as they headed off. Following the war, Father Corby became president of the University of Notre Dame. A replica of this monument stands on the university’s campus, marking his grave. Years after the war, veterans of the Irish Brigade petitioned to have the Medal of Honor awarded to Corby, a request that was ultimately denied.

Although they made it their own, the Vikings were not the first explorers of the North Atlantic. For at least two centuries before the beginning of the Viking Age, Irish monks had been setting out in their curachs in search of remote islands where they could contemplate the divine in perfect solitude, disturbed only by the cries of seabirds and the crashing of the waves on the shore. The monks developed a tradition of writing imrama, travel tales, the most famous of which is the Navigatio sancti Brendani abbatis (The Voyage of St Brendan the Abbot). The Navigatio recounts a voyage purported to have been made by St Brendan (d. c. 577) in search of the mythical Isles of the Blessed, which were believed to lie somewhere in the western ocean. The imrama certainly show a familiarity with the North Atlantic–the Navigatio, for example, describes what are probably icebergs, volcanoes and whales–but they also include so many fantastical and mythological elements that it is impossible to disentangle truth from invention. There is no evidence to support claims that are often made that St Brendan discovered America before the Vikings, but Irish monks certainly did reach the Faeroe Islands and Iceland before them. Ash from peat fires containing charred barley grains found in windblown sand deposits at Á Sondum on Sandoy in the southern Faeroes has been radiocarbon-dated to between the fourth and sixth centuries AD. Although no trace of buildings has yet been found, the ash probably came from domestic hearths and had been thrown out onto the sand to help control erosion, which was a common practice at the time. As peat was not used as a fuel in Scandinavia at this time but was widely used in Britain and Ireland, this evidence suggests that seafaring Irish monks had discovered the Faeroes not long after Ireland’s conversion to Christianity. No physical traces of an Irish presence in Iceland have been found in modern times, but early Viking settlers claimed that they found croziers and other ecclesiastical artefacts there. There are also two papar place-names (see here) associated with Irish monks, Papos and Papey, in the east of Iceland. The monks, all being celibate males, did not found any permanent self-sustaining communities in either place: they were always visitors rather than settlers.

May your coffin be made of the finest wood from a one-hundred-year-old tree that I’ll go plant tomorrow. —TRADITIONAL IRISH BLESSING

He’d concluded that not only should females have the right to vote, they should probably be governing the whole darn country.

Tis both a blessing a and a curse to desire a man in a physical manner.

Here’s an old Irish blessing: To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die,

There’s an Irish blessing you always use to say before getting drunk as fuck.” I take a deep breath. “I promise, if I steal, it will be to steal her heart. If I cheat, it’s to cheat death so I can stay with her longer. If I fight, it will be to “protect her.” Then I add my own twist, “If she cries, it will be tears of happiness. If she’s in pain, it will be because she’s giving birth to our children.

Meeting God Within When people succeed in coming home to themselves and glimpsing their own inner beauty, something amazing happens: they are blessed with a real compassion for who they themselves are, in all their vulnerability. This compassion, in turn, carves out a space where they can welcome God into their hearts. It is as if they must first become aware of the marvel of themselves, and only then are they ready to get in touch with the wonder of God. Their new relationship with themselves ushers in a nourishing friendship with the One who has always been calling them. This journey inward does not take place overnight. Although the heart is only fifteen inches from the head, it can take us years to arrive at our emotional core. I used to imagine that God didn’t particularly like the world because it wasn’t spiritual enough. Only later it dawned on me that God had created the world in love, and had passionately left clues to this fact everywhere. The persons and events of my daily life were already signs of God. Had I paid compassionate attention to my longings and my joys, I would have heard in them the symphony of God’s own infinite joy. God was intimately involved in my life, but I was sadly ignorant of the riches inside me. To find God, I did not have to leave the world, but to come home to it—and to myself—and God would be there, waiting for me.

Your happiness is tantamount to mine, and so I send you off on this matrimonial journey with an Irish blessing: May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, and your hearts joined forever in love. To the bride and groom.

May God grant you always...A sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, a sheltering Angel so nothing can harm you. Laughter to cheer you. Faithful friends near you. And whenever you pray, Heaven to hear you.  An Irish Blessing

the Irish blessing that her grandmother had cross-stitched in green thread against a cream linen background and hung in her parlor: “May the road rise to meet you, May the wind be always at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, May the rains fall soft upon your fields, And, until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead. (Irish blessing)

desire for Oisin’s delightful tales of these brave Pagans would overcome in Patrick the zest for theological controversy — “Oisin, sweet to me is thy voice, And a blessing, furthermore, on the soul of Fionn! Relate to us how many deer Were slain at Sliabh-nam-Ban-Fionn.” And, Oisin, mollified, forgiving and forgetting Patrick’s strictures on his Fian fellows, would forthwith launch into another of his rare tales.

O’Neill could feel rising off them devotion and love for him, and he knew they would lay down their lives for their high chieftain and for the new cause, only now taking shape in their heads. The cause. Unthinkable just a year before—freedom from occupation. Freedom from oppression. Indeed, their heinous oppressors were approaching—English soldiers who had slaughtered their brothers, their wives, their mothers. Their children. Soldiers who had mindlessly laid waste to their home provinces. To Ireland. Never before had these men fought for the whole of this ancient land, but now they understood, and their hearts—God bless their staunch hearts—were strong and ready to fight. Raising his sword high above his head, O’Neill, with slow deliberation, lowered it, and the glorious blue morning exploded into sound.   C

The seventeenth-century Spanish Jesuit Baltasar Gracian wrote that “life without friends is like life on a desert island,” adding that to find and keep even one deep friendship in life is the greatest of blessings. Of

We call upon a God so great, amidst a very sacred date, to bless us with a mighty feast of wine and bread and beast. To Dagda of the Irish Isle, God of Earth with charming smile, we gently do invoke thy power; be with us on the witching hour.

By the same token, the overseers are usually the descendants of Cockneys who were born not far from Bow bells. The profanity and coarseness and violent metaphors of a truly pagan race are of course the gifts of the Irish, God bless their souls. But perhaps the greatest contribution is from the people who were brought to the New World on slave ships during the era of the Middle Passage. It’s the iambic line. Listen to it sometime. Every other syllable is accented. Any British poet would immediately recognize it.

Irish blessing to serve as grace tonight before the waiters bring our food. ‘The light of the Christmas star to you, the warmth of home and hearth to you, the cheer and goodwill of friends to you, the hope of a childlike heart to you, the joy of a thousand angels to you, the love of the Son and God’s peace to you.’” “Amen,

The warmth of a home and hearth to you The cheer and good will of friends to you The hope of a childlike heart to you The joy of a thousand angels to you The love of the Son and God’s peace to you. ​— ​IRISH CHRISTMAS BLESSING

My mother told me a million times that Ireland and the Irish people were special, and that the O'Cadhain family in particular was the most blessed of all because it had been imposed upon without cease since the dawn it sprung up in Galway. For centuries they had been in training to have nothing, so everything was more or less working perfectly according to God's plan.

How on earth is it that the Irish are today fighting tooth and nail not to enter the war on England's side, after being subjected to British "protection" and blessing for over 700 years? In this connection, we may recall the Irish national rising in 1916. Instead of giving the Irish self-government, England "protected" them by bombing Dublin, deporting 1,000 national Irish and executing their leaders. It was Churchill who was mainly responsible for the cruel mistreatment of the Irish with burning, looting and killing without law and order, because he had said that the Irish had to be put down like mad dogs. Only de Valera was spared, not out of human kindness, but solely because he was an American citizen, and one was anxious to injure the friendship with the United States

May those who love us love us. And those that don’t love us, May God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, May he turn their ankles, So we’ll know them by their limping. ​— ​IRISH BLESSING

Jace is the mother hen of the group. He’s been blessed—or cursed, if you ask him—with a kind-hearted babyface that makes him look much younger than his thirty-six years.

It’s a throwback to that time. But anyway, the mother was ready to place the child on a fire, the belief at the time being that the changeling would go up the chimney and the real child would return, but my grandmother stopped her. She knew it was no changeling. The child was sickening for something, and so she made up a tincture of herbs and did a blessing, a healing of the child, and he was fine.

May God be with you and bless you. May you see your children’s children. May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. IRISH BLESSING

The Irish Blessing May the road rise to meet you, May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, The rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of his hand. May God be with you and bless you: May you see your children's children. May you be poor in misfortune, Rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness From this day forward. May the road rise up to meet you May the wind be always at your back May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home And may the hand of a friend always be near. May green be the grass you walk on, May blue be the skies above you, May pure be the joys that surround you, May true be the hearts that love you.

There is evidence to support claims that 962 years prior to Columbus setting foot in the Bahamas, Saint Brendan, an Irish monastic priest known as “Saint Brendan the Navigator,” looked for the “Isle of the Blessed.” What island he found has been lost to history and is still unknown; however, legend names it “Saint Brendan’s Island.” Many believe that in his journeys across the Atlantic Ocean he actually landed in America in 1150, or 342 years prior to Columbus’ discovery.” Note: Saint Patrick ’s Day was the day of my parent’s anniversary.

LISTEN: I come for the fight. I come from rebels, from blood nationalists, Molly Maguires, fiery socialists. I come from a New York suffragist and a New England quarryman, Irish parents who saved me the humiliation and hypocrisy of Our Blessed Church so that I might see the world clearly and burn with other fires. I have sought a paradise in this life, from the window of a train traversing a starkly beautiful land where a man’s skin is still criminalized and a woman’s body enslaved, where workers are thrown away like coal slag.

May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten.” ~ Irish Blessing

Mrs. Rita Graul, one of Mrs. Hicks’s principal lieutenants, had just introduced two figures in chicken masks—“the white chicken, Senator Kennedy,” and “the brown chicken, Senator Brooke.” All of a sudden, there was Kennedy himself—that distinctive mop of brown hair, his face tanned from the late-summer weekend on the Cape. There was a brief but heated discussion over whether to let the Senator speak. Ultimately, Kennedy advanced to the microphone, but when the crowd realized who he was they booed and jeered: “Impeach him. Get rid of the bum!” “You’re a disgrace to the Irish!” “Why don’t you put your one-legged son on a bus!” “Yeah, let your daughter get bused, so she can get raped!” “Why don’t you let them shoot you, like they shot your brother!” Kennedy’s face tightened and his fist grasped the microphone more closely, but each time he tried to speak the clamor grew. Some in the crowd chanted, “No, no, we won’t go.” Others sang “God Bless America.” Then, slowly at first, more quickly as the idea caught on, the crowd turned row by row to face the Federal Building named for his brother, the late President. Kennedy abruptly left the platform and started across the plaza toward his office, a few women pursuing him, shouting further insults. Then out of the crowd sailed a ripe tomato, smashing on the pavement, splattering his pin-striped suit. “Ahhh,” sighed the crowd. Another tomato and several eggs rained down on him. Kennedy quickened his pace, head down. With the object of their resentment in full flight now, the pursuers closed in.

A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures. IRISH BLESSING

May peace and plenty be the first to lift the latch to your door and happiness be your guest today and evermore’ Irish blessing

May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, The foresight to know where you are going, And the insight to know when you have gone too far. ​— ​IRISH BLESSING

May love and laughter light your days and warm your heart and home. May good and faithful friends be yours wherever you may roam.’ Irish blessing

There would be no survivors come morning. There never were. The Hunt left no hearts beating. There was no escaping the Sidhe. Not even the Fomorians, the powerful demons from below the sea, had outrun the pale ones and were driven back into the bellies of their waves and waters. But the Milesians were not demons like the Fomori. When they had come to Éire, they had a goddess blessed right to claim, and claim it they would. With spilled blood, unthinkable bargains and curses that would stain generations to come, the Milesians stood their ground.