We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.
We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.
Wisdom worth sharing, words worth remembering.
We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.
War is mainly a catalogue of blunders.
A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and fails and then asks you not to kill him.
When you are winning a war almost everything that happens can be claimed to be right and wise.
Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.
When the war of the giants is over the wars of the pygmies will begin.
We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be we shall fight on the beaches we shall fight on the landing grounds we shall fight in the fields and in the streets we shall fight in the hills we shall never surrender.
We occasionally stumble over the truth but most of us pick ourselves up and hurry off as if nothing had happened.
In wartime truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it ignorance may deride it but in the end there it is.
A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.
One does not leave a convivial party before closing time.