Drink is the curse of the land. It makes you fight with your neighbor. It makes you shoot at your landlord and it makes you miss him.
May you die in bed at ninety-five years, shot by a jealous husband (or wife).
The Irish don’t know what they want and are prepared to fight to the death to get it.
God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world.
When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to Heaven. So, let’s all get drunk and go to heaven.
The Irish gave the bagpipes to the Scotts as a joke, but the Scotts haven’t seen the joke yet. ~ Oliver Herford
As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.
The Irish ignore anything they can’t drink or punch.
May those who love us, love us; and those who don’t love us, may God turn their hearts; and if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles so we’ll know them by their limping.
May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.