I think there’s nothing better than laughing in life, so that’s nice, to be thought of as someone who can make someone laugh. It’s because I think life is hard. You know, my dad was a really silly man. A great Irish silly man. And that’s fine.
Love . . . is like nature, but in reverse; first it fruits, then it flowers, then it seems to wither, then it goes deep, deep down into its burrow, where no one sees it, where it is lost from sight, and ultimately people die with that secret buried inside their souls.
It’s lovely to know that the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head.
The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.
Shut your mouth and eat your dinner.
You know it’s summer in Ireland when the rain gets warmer.
Retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples.
Nothing is more usual than the sight of old people who yearn for retirement: and nothing is so rare than those who have retired and do not regret it.
Food, like a loving touch or a glimpse of divine power, has that ability to comfort.
Let your food be your medicine, and your medicine be your food.
Food is our common ground, a universal experience.
I only take a drink on two occasions – when I’m thirsty and when I’m not.
The Irish are very fair people; they never speak well of one another.
Beer is proof that God loves us.
Oh, he occasionally takes an alcohol day.
God is good to the Irish, but no one else is; not even the Irish.
I wasn’t close to my father, but I wanted to be all my life. He had a funny sense of humor, and he laughed all the time – good and loud like I do. He was a gay Irish gentleman and very good-looking. And he wanted to be close to me, too, but we never had much time together.
The Irish Catholic side was married to the life of an actor and I found out acting could be a form of prayer.