Best 26 quotes in «leprechaun quotes» category

It was never just about the money.

Mensen vragen wel eens, geloof jij in God, Martinus? En dan zeg ik ja, uiteraard. Wat ik er dan niet bij vertel is dat ik ook geloof dat hij donkergroen is, inferieur aan de mens en uit op het stelen van mijn portemonnee. Want dan zit er altijd wel een slimmerik tussen die vraagt of God dan ook een hoed op heeft, en of ik hem niet met een leprechaun verwar, een schepsel waar de Nederlanders nooit een woord voor hebben uitgevonden. En ik zou niet weten wat ik daarop moet antwoorden, behalve dan dat God absoluut een hoed draagt, en zeer waarschijnlijk met een klavertje vier rondloopt, wat hij ook wel nodig heeft want ik heb helemaal geen portemonnee.

No one ever said you can’t have world dominance and a little romance too.

Oh, you’re hardly one to talk. Look where ogling a man got you.

Nothing good can come from a crack of dawn meeting on a Monday morning.

Maggie had a sinking suspicion that those stories her Aunt Lizzie told her, the ones that sent her to bed with her head full of leprechauns and fairies, may be more than fairytales after all.

O, sir,' murmured Sheila, still on her knees, 'please forgive me.' 'Forgive you! 0, la, la, la!' cunningly cried the droll, and strutting like an actor. 'Forgiveness is easy, is it not? O, yes, it is nothing. You are a young woman full of pride. O. yes! - but that is nothing. And full of penitence, and that is nothing, too. Pride is nothing, penitence nothing, forgiveness nothing, but even a bargain in farthings must be paid to be made, and I am a plain business man. What costs nothing brings no balm, and you would not like that, you would not like that, now would you?' (“The Bogey Man”)

She caught you. Therefore she gets your treasure.

Scaoileadh Me.... 'Release me.' That was what he said. No doubt about it. It was in Gaelic, but that was what the voice said. Holy. Crap.

A leprechaun did not just kill off my car in a hailstorm.

This is my gift to you and your reward, Tom Mulligan, maker of ballads and journeyman worker in fine tales. 'Tis more than your wish was. Nayther you nor anyone who sits at your table, through all your life, will ever want a bite to ate or a sup to dhrink, nor yet a silver shilling to cheer him on his way. Good luck to all here and goodbye!" Even as they looked at the King he was gone, vanished like a light that's blown out-and they never saw him more. But the news spread. Musicianers, poets, and story-tellers, and jayniouses flocked to the ballad maker's cabin from all over Ireland. Any fine day in the year one might see them gather in dozen knots before his door and into as many little crowds about the stable. In each crowd, from morning till night, there was a chune being played, a ballad sung, or a story being tould. Always one could find there blacksmiths, schoolmasters, and tinkers, and all trades, but the greater number be far, av coorse, were beggarmen. Nor is that same to be wondhered at, bekase every jaynious, if he had his own way and could folly his own heart's desire'd start to-morrow at daybreak with the beggarman's staff and bag. But wherever they came from, and whatever their station, Tom Mulligan stumped on his wooden leg from crowd to crowd, the jovial, happy master of them all.

Yelling Irish you can sound like an angry Leprechaun.

Are you trying to seduce me or trick me?

There is something sinister about putting a leprechaun in a workhouse. The only solid comfort is that he certainly will not work.

You didn’t make her sue you, even if you did punch her at that wedding.

But all the magic I have known I've had to make myself.

Are ya trying' to kill me, lass?" "Kill you? No." Maggie leaned closer, her hands drifting up and cradling his face as she rolled her hips again in one wicked pass. "Torture you? Maybe.

Are ya tryin' to kill me, Maggie?" Declan bit the words out and his fingers dug deeper into her hips. "Are ya wantin' to see a grown man beg?

Grabbing someone’s ass doesn’t count as capturing them!

Don’t pinch that guy’s ass. He’s a leprechaun.

I am Shiloh, whose box you stole. Your godmother's sickness lies in your own keeping, you can heal her in a moment. Make me your slave, and I must do your will.' 'You can do this,' Sheila said, 'without my taking a gift from you; you are wise and skilled. O do it, sir, and I will bless your name for ever.' 'Pooh! what is the good of that?' said he. 'No, I serve a master, the King of Kings, but we are emptiness itself without your mortal alloy. Do as I bid and I will serve you like a queen. And if you fear me you have only to put me to sleep and I shall sleep for seven hundred years.' 'No,' said the tempted girl slowly, 'not even for godmother can I do this; you are full of evil. Lies, lies! Why do you lie so?' 'O,' Shiloh said, 'because I am weary, and dissimulation is stimulation.' 'I don't understand that.' 'Well, it is so.' He yawned and yawned. 'Besides, I am the Other Side of things. All you think good may be bad, all you think bad may be good.' 'And I don't understand that.' Shiloh replied: 'Strong meat for men and lily buds for maids; did Ajax feed on apples?' 'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Sheila.

Humph,' he said, with a disagreeable air, 'the universe does its work very quietly.' (“The Bogey Man”)

I asked her, dreamily, if we had met, and when she told me that we had not, I gave her a little finger wave, the type a leprechaun might offer a pixie who was floating by on a maple leaf. "Well, hi there," I whispered.

Everything you’re telling me was just a story, and now it’s real.

I'll not be lyin' if I tell ya that I fancy ya a bit myself." "The fancy feelings are mutual." A grin curved her lips right before Declan pressed a kiss to them.

I'll show you an imaginative re-creation, my fist imaginatively re-creating your fucken face for starters.