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What shall I say about the Irish?
The utterly impractical, never predictable,
Something irascible, quite inexplicable, Irish.
Strange blend of shyness, pride and conceit
And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.
He's spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child fills his soul with delight.
His eyes are the quickest to well up in tears,
Yet his strength is the strongest to banish your fears.
His faith is as fierce as his devotion is grand
And there's no middle ground on which he will stand.
He's wild and he's gentle, he's good and he's bad,
He's proud and he's humble, he's happy and sad.
He's in love with the ocean, the earth and the skies,
He's enamored with beauty wherever it lies.
He's victor and victim, a star and a clod,
But mostly he's Irish and in love with his God.
An Irishman's Philosophy
In life, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you are well or you are sick.
If you are well, there is nothing to worry about,
But if you are sick, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you will get well or you will die.
If you get well, there is nothing to worry about,
But if you die, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you will go to heaven or hell.
If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about.
And if you go to hell, you’ll be so busy shaking hands with all your friends
You won’t have time to worry!
“One of the tasks of true friendship is to listen compassionately and creatively to the hidden silences. Often secrets are not revealed in words, they lie concealed in the silence between the words or in the depth of what is unsayable between two people.” ― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom