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Forgetting a debt doesn’t mean it’s paid.

Now sweetly lies old Ireland Emerald green beyond the foam, Awakening sweet memories, Calling the heart back home.

An old broom knows the dirty corners best.

St. Patrick was a gentleman Who through strategy and stealth Drove all the snakes from Ireland. Here's toasting to his health. But not too many toastings Lest you lose yourself and then Forget the good St. Patrick And see all those snakes again.

May your bank account always be bigger than your troubles.

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Ireland, sir, for good or evil, No other place under Heaven. And no man can touch its sod Or breathe its air without becoming Better or worse.

May there be a fox on your fishing hook And a hare on your bait And may you kill no fish Until St. Brigid's Day.

Every patient is a doctor after his cure.

May the grass grow long on the road to Hell for want of use.

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