Leprechaun Sayings Quotes

I don't care what you Yanks say, cheese should not whiz.

Wait until you meet the therapist. That bad? Let's just say i can't believe he's a real person. Like Santa Claus? More like if Santa Claus and Ron Jeremy had a child and then that child had a child with Richard Simmons. So, like a leprechaun? Yes, Otter, exactly like a leprechaun. I'm going to tell him I believe in Santa Claus, just to see what happens. I dare you.

When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes? When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle (which surely is as American a phenomenon as fireworks on the Fourth of July) and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Lucky Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end. I cannot admit this out loud. In the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all mothers wake up feeling fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA. Here's a secret: those mothers don't exist. Most of us-even if we'd never confess-are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring. I look very good on paper. I have a family, and I write a newspaper column. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost for dinner, and plan to have BECAUSE I SAID SO engraved on my tombstone. Real mothers wonder why experts who write for Parents and Good Housekeeping-and, dare I say it, the Burlington Free Press-seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood. Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's car, and say, "Great. Maybe YOU can do a better job." Real mothers know that it's okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast. Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed. If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt. Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they'd chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal. Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they'll be looking and looking for ages. Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one.

When people say they are atheists they don’t mean they can’t prove that there are no gods. Strictly speaking, it’s impossible to prove that something does not exist. We don’t positively know there are no gods, just as we can’t prove that there are no fairies or pixies or elves or hobgoblins or leprechauns or pink unicorns; just as we can’t prove that Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy don’t exist. There’s a billion things you can imagine and nobody can disprove.

Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter.Lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums. A thousand welcomes when anyone comes... That's the Irish for you!" - Irish Sayings

ah' he says 'I didn't think you had the local accent.' I wonder what he expects. Top o' the morning and to be sure, to be sure and shamrocks and leprechauns

What can I do for you, Mother?" he asked. "And don't say 'Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.' Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process." "I wasn't going to ask anything of the sort," Violet replied. "I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington." "Have Mercy, Mother," he moaned. "She's even worse." "I'm not asking you to marry the chit," she said. "Just dance with her." Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he'd seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. "I'll tell you what," he wheedled. "I'll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay." "That'll do," his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she'd wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. "She's over there by the lemonade table," Violet said, "dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing.The color is good for her,but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume,I can't imagine." "You obviously haven't seen the mermaid," Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. "No poking fun at the guests." "But they make it so easy.

Cabinet is a conscious, explicit attempt to portray the Doctor himself as myth. “He’s a mischief, a leprechaun, a boojum,” says one character, bookseller and collector of incunabula, Syme. “The Doctor is a myth. He’s straight out of Old English folklore, typical trickster figure really.”29 Neither part of an ongoing narrative, nor specifically located within the series’ past, Cabinet is in a position to challenge the portrayal of the Doctor.

When we ask someone out, and are unsure whether we will hear them say yes, we are taking a leap of faith mixed with doubt. When we believe our spouse that they did not cheat, it is a leap of faith. We doubt in the absence of evidence, or when our trust in ourselves, and others are disrupted in some ways.

How do you know it's true if you don't believe in it?" "I...huh?" "How can you understand something you don't believe in?" "Shin, that doesn't make any sense. That's like saying you can't understand leprechauns unless you believe in them." "Do you understand leprechauns?" "I don't believe in them." "There you go.

You don’t believe in leprechauns. A myth you say they be. You don’t believe in pots-o-gold, or four-leaf-clover tea. You don’t believe the rainbow’s end alights on treasured finds. They are illusions meant for fools you say ‘ave lost their minds. You don’t believe in whispering your wishes to the wind, where on St. Patrick’s holiday they blow t’wards Ireland. You don’t believe in magic spells or longings coming true. Yet, head-to-toe you dress in green on Patty’s Day, you do.

Yes, of course,” I say. “My father told us stories when I was very young. He talked about leprechauns and fairies. All his favorite jokes started with a priest and a leprechaun walking into a bar. He had what seemed like a hundred variations on the same joke.” She says, “What made him stop?” “What do you mean?” “You said he told the stories when you were very young.” “Oh. He was an alcoholic. He left my mother by the time I was six. He came and went after that, until he passed away when I was a teenager.” “My husband was a dreamer, too.

Although motherhood is meant to turn “flawed” women into “fulfilled” ones, among Donath’s interviewees, the opposite has happened. “If a little leprechaun came and asked me, ‘Should I make them go away like nothing happened?’ I would say yes without hesitating,” says Sophia, who has two young children. “It’s just an unbearable burden for me,” says Sky, mother of three teenagers. All these women love their children; what they do not like is the experience of motherhood, what it is doing to them and to their lives. “I wouldn’t want them not to be here. I just don’t want to be a mother,” Charlotte concludes.

But what does that say about aspirational living? Hey, you moved into a big house and you made it...except you didn't. There's this idea that you will be safe if you just get famous enough, successful enough, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, move into the right neighborhood, do all these things to fully assimilate into the America people have been sold on. We all bought in, and we keep thinking if we just get over this mountain of assimilation, on the other side is a pot of gold. Or maybe a unicorn, perhaps a leprechaun. Any of those is as plausible as the acceptance of the wholeness of me. But there's just another mountain on the other side. And someone will be ready to tell you, "Don't be breathing hard. You need to make this look easy.

Gentlemen are rare. They're like virgins or leprechauns. If I ever get married, I'm going to marry one." I can't resist saying, "A virgin or a leprechaun?

I’m talking mashed potatoes. Roast potatoes. Sweet potatoes. Potato casserole. Those thinly sliced potatoes with that cheese sauce on them. Potato salad, even.” “Jimmy?” Dallas says with a startlingly sweet smile. “Yeah?” “Shut the hell up about potatoes.” “But they’re the best part of Thanksgiving dinner! Everyone knows that.” “It’s my Irish blood, makes me love the things. Can’t get enough of ‘em.” “Binge-watching Collin Farrell movies while youeat Lucky Charms doesn’t make you Irish, dumbass,” he grouches. “I dress up for St. Patrick’s day, too,” Triple J responds, defensive. I swivel from where I’m removing my shin guards to peer at him. “What the hell do you dress up as for St. Patrick’s day?” He shakes his head at me like I’m incredibly stupid for asking this. “A leprechaun, of course.” Dallas grins. “Surely you don’t even need a costume for that one.

Benedict!” Damn. He’d nearly made a clean escape. He looked up to see his mother hurrying toward him. She was dressed in some sort of Elizabethan costume. He supposed she was meant to be a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays, but for the life of him, he had no idea which. “What can I do for you, Mother?” he asked. “And don’t say ‘Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.’ Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process.” “I wasn’t going to ask anything of the sort,” Violet replied. “I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington.” “Have mercy, Mother,” he moaned. “She’s even worse.” “I’m not asking you to marry the chit,” she said. “Just dance with her.” Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he’d seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. “I’ll tell you what,” he wheedled. “I’ll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay.” “That’ll do,” his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she’d wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. “She’s over there by the lemonade table,” Violet said, “dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing. The color is good for her, but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume, I can’t imagine.” “You obviously haven’t seen the mermaid,” Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “No poking fun at the guests.” “But they make it so easy.” She shot him a look of warning before saying, “I’m off to find your sister.” “Which one?” “One of the ones who isn’t married,” Violet said pertly.

I realized that I sat in an empty bar in filthy, wet clothes with a drippy nose, probably red-rimmed eyes, and the most I could say I’d accomplished was that I was now congested. Oh, and one of the handsomest, nicest men I’d ever met cradled my face in warm, caressing hands with soft, sympathy in his brown eyes.

That’s the problem! She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me like she’s hypnotized, like she thinks I’m a god, but then she runs off squeaking if I try to talk to her.” “I don’t squeak,” I protested. “Maybe she’s not looking at you like you’re a god. Maybe she thinks you’re more of a freak,” Fergus mused. “I’m not a freak.” Murphy jerked his head as if dodging a fly or tossing his hair. “It’s definitely a ‘you’re a god’ look. She practically drools.

Even further, one can use a viral model for many things – it doesn't make those things a virus. For example, say that one day a prominent scientist decided to coin “moonemes” and started the “mooneme hypothesis” of cow migration. The hypothesis is all about how cows' migration patterns can be described and modelled as a “virus of the plains”, because cows move from place to place, spread, mutate, and eat all of the grass. No matter how well the model fits to cows, they are not - and will never be - obligate parasites. A view that it's a matter of personal perspective is subjectivism and hardly conducive to scientific inquiry of an objective world. It's simply not in the nature of cows any more than it is in the nature of knowledge.

He starts to turn away, then stops, scratching at his beard, considering something, before bending low in the grass and plucking something from the soil. He holds it out in his palm. "Good luck, giant," he says, nodding. In his palm rests a tiny green leaf. "It's a four-leaf clover," he explains with a wink. "And one that's been plucked from inside St. Patrick Town is particularly lucky." I take the green clover from his palm and hold it up to the clouded sky, marveling at its four perfectly rounded leaves. It smells of soil and rain, resting delicately between my fingertips. And it looks just like the clover on the doorway into this realm. "Thank you," I say to him, but when I glance up, he's already vanished into the thick green spruce trees and falling raindrops.

The identity of the first discoverer of gold at Bendigo is disputed: some say it was stationmaster’s wife Margaret Kennedy; some say it was shepherd Ben Hall; some say it was a roaming band of mischievous leprechauns.

Too late for that now,” the Eldest Leprechaun said. “The damage is done. Give the thing a name, and it takes shape. They gave a name and a shape to the force that’s always hated us. It’s everything we’re not. It’s New Ireland, it’s money for money’s sake, brown paper envelopes stuffed full of bribes—the turn of mind that says that the old’s only good for theme parks, and the new is all there needs to be. It’s been getting stronger and stronger all this while.And now that it’s more important to the people living in the city than we are, it’s become physically real.