On such occasions, when centuries gather into moments, some one overmastering feeling, hope or passion absorbs and controls the whole understanding.

That which was then present to my mind, and occupied all its faculties, was the hope of satisfaction, or vengeance, if you will, for so many ages of guilty tyranny.

The tears, the burning and blood of nearly one thousand years seemed to letter the eastern sky, as day dawned upon my way.

Apprehension, I had none.

From earliest childhood to that hour, I never met one Irishman whose hope of hope it was not to deliver the country forever from English thrall.