Trinity Leon Uris Quotes

Love can't mature in one room. It has to come out of the full sharing of everything: joys, aspirations, downfalls, all of it. That's the only real path to love.

Look at me, man, look at me and tell me I don't know what I'm about. I'm Conor Larkin. I'm an Irishman and I've had enough.

If you're lucky enough to fall in love, that's one thing. Otherwise all that was ever truly beautiful to me was boyhood. It's the meal we sup on for the rest of our lives. Love puts the icing on life. But if you don't find it...you must call on your childhood memories over and over till you do.

The only time we can attract a crowd is for some pilgrimage up some god-damned holy mountain to chase the snakes and banshees out of the country.

It all begins and ends in the same place, doesn't it? Conor and me in Ballyutogue. We all come home eventually.

There's a curse on me as there's a curse on the Larkin name. The curse comes back, again and again, to taunt me! Ronan! Kilty! Tomas! And now me! What are the Irish among men? Are we lepers? Are we a blight? Will there ever be an end to our tears?

Belfast was born as the mongoloid child of British imperialism.

Emily Hobhouse,

A lot was spoken but nothing was said.

I've not been right for any man or myself since I met you.

Sin? What is sin inside the dynamic of family relationships? It is a mystery that began with man. No one can solve it except through his own unique experience. How you feel is human. But do not think it will leave you alone. We are never free of our blood.

. “We’re still a family and you don’t count time as minutes on a clock or miles of an ocean.” Brigid tried to shove past him but he held fast.

If you remember nothing else, remember this. No crime a man commits in behalf of his freedom can be as great as the crimes committed by those who deny his freedom.

Bloemfontein

Caroline are definitely the people to carry it out.” Men of ambition understood men of ambition

For you see, in Ireland there is no future, only the past happening over and over.

stalwart

If I burned you for a fool, I’d have wise ashes,” he said.

God figured out when he separated us from the rest of the creatures that if we have the power to reason and justify and make decisions, then we are going to make a lot of mistakes passing through. Big, big, big mistakes. God understood that, then gave us the ultimate human power, the power of redemption.

They were the weary down there, the craggy-faced, knobby, leather-handed toilers rehearsing their own demise, yielding in pitiful weakness to the scythe of mystery kept poised a lifetime at their jugulars … too simple and too tired to protest … too frightened to seek the truth … succumbed in silence, for without it … what was there left to believe?

Certain of us are meant for certain things,” he began. “I thank God I discovered at an early age and was able to make peace about myself within the narrow framework allowed to me. There’s a book kept on all of us from the moment we’re born. If only we could open it and really learn what’s in store. The problem is it takes most of us most of our lives to understand what we should have known from the beginning.

There is no present or future—only the past, happening over and over again—now.” —EUGENE O’NEILL

If you’re Irish enough, you can go an entire lifetime filled with conversations that never took place, like those

The issue before the British government was not the survival of the people they had conquered but the survival of the aristocracy they had planted on our soil.

No blight that ever destroyed our fields can match the human blight that came to us from across the Irish Sea. Why don’t you people declare war on your ignorance?

She could start a fight in an empty house.

After the crushing of the Wolfe Tone’s United Irishmen Rising of 1798, the British were determined not to have to contend with any further liberation-minded Dublin Parliaments. To this end, William Pitt, the British Prime Minister, engineered an Act of Union for the sole purpose of total political suppression of the Irish. Cornwallis, the Viceroy of Ireland, embarked on a campaign of rank chicanery designed to coerce the Dublin Parliament into dissolving itself after five hundred years. When it was done, the Cross of St. Patrick was added to the British Cross of St. George and the Scottish Cross of St. Andrew, all fixed on a single banner known as the Union Jack to fly over a so-called United Kingdom. For

Likewise, Nothing is generally what prospectors find. Nothing is in the head of politicians. “We must try to understand oft-misunderstood philosophers who actually do Nothing, think Nothing, and say Nothing, because he who does Nothing can do Nothing wrong. He who thinks of Nothing day and night plants no evil and Nothing offends no one.” “I want you to defend me if I need a lawyer,” Conor said. “On what charges?” Theo asked. “Nothing,” Conor said. “I’ll have you out in no time flat.

After the crushing of the Wolfe Tone’s United Irishmen Rising of 1798, the British were determined not to have to contend with any further liberation-minded Dublin Parliaments. To this end, William Pitt, the British Prime Minister, engineered an Act of Union for the sole purpose of total political suppression of the Irish. Cornwallis, the Viceroy of Ireland, embarked on a campaign of rank chicanery designed to coerce the Dublin Parliament into dissolving itself after five hundred years. When it was done, the Cross of St. Patrick was added to the British Cross of St. George and the Scottish Cross of St. Andrew, all fixed on a single banner known as the Union Jack to fly over a so-called United Kingdom.

All we’ve ever shared,” she said, “is a room, a bed and a little time. We’ve never shared the sunlight or the wind or the feel of rain. When we were together it was always so temporary we never had time to be ourselves. Love can’t mature in one room. It has to come out of the full sharing of everything: joys, aspirations, downfalls, all of it. That’s the only real path to love.

In that case,” Tomas answered softly, “your sin will be as grave as mine. I know it’s disappointing to you after having waited so long for the sweet victory of Kilty and Tomas Larkin both inside St. Columba’s at the same time … one laid out and the other on his knees praying for his immortal soul. But God won’t know who we are anyhow, because we’ve priests here who don’t even know how to pray in the Irish language … it’s that English they are.

Parnell’s star had zenithed. The aloof man who spoke loudest by listening, the unemotional exterior which wept within at injustice, the shy man whose moral strength was powerfully evident, the Protestant who fought the Catholic cause, the Anglo-ascendancy landowner who led the landless, the Cambridge-educated genius who alone was able to rally and control an effective conglomeration of wild Irishmen. Charles Stewart Parnell, indeed, was the uncrowned king of Ireland.

We live,” Daddo said, “with a number of rooms inside us. The best room is open to the family and friends and we show our finest face in it. Another room is more private, the bedroom, and very few are allowed in. There is another room where we allow no one in … not even our wives and children, for it is a room of the most intimate thoughts we keep unshared. There is one more room, so hidden away that we don’t even enter it ourselves. Within we lock all the mysteries we cannot solve and all the pains and sorrows we wish to forget.

A major seminary was established at Maynooth under English eyes and supervision to create a British version of Catholicism that would eventually diminish the old Celtic and Norman versions.

The first of the Walbys to come to Ireland had been Isaiah, who in 1649 won a measure of renown as a Cromwell officer. Captain Isaiah distinguished himself during the massacre at Drogheda in which several thousand Catholics, women and children no exception, were slaughtered in holy vengeance. The Drogheda murders were sanctified by Oliver Cromwell himself, who declared it “a righteous judgment of God upon barbarous wretches.” In the three hundred-odd years that followed, this opinion of the natives remained largely unchanged by succeeding generations of Walbys.

Ireland exported most things in modest quantity, save emigrants, Guinness, Donegal tweed, Waterford crystal and … priests.

With the hours they worked and having the yearly baby, it was small wonder the grayness came and the teeth were lost and the stoop of weariness invaded long before its rightful time. There was little joy for these women. Even the joy that one felt as a haughty young girl being courted, and the joy of the moment of marriage, fled too soon.

There were a lot of things between us we never exactly put into words because they were understood.