Living in SWIFT with Irish roots

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There is no fireside like your own fireside.

The light heart lives long.

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 you never be without a drop at Christmas.

For each petal on the shamrock This brings a wish your way-- Good health, good luck, and happiness For today and every day.

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[ Living in SWIFT with Irish roots ].

Health and a long life to you. Land without rent to you. A child every year to you. And if you can't go to heaven, May you at least die in Ireland.

In order to find his equal, an Irishman is forced to talk to God.

Twenty years a child; twenty years running wild; twenty years a mature man -- and after that, praying.

'Tis only a stepmother would blame you: There's no need to be embarrassed or feel badly about committing a small offense, if the deed is so insignificant that only a jealous, belittling stepmother could find fault with you.

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