The Luck of the Irish

[first lines]

Stephen Fitzgerald:
This can't be right. Let me see that map.

Horace:
[to Stephen] I offered you gold. 'Tis not my fault you prefer a pebble.

Cornelius:
[Serving Stephen a mug of beer] Here. Drag that over your tonsils.

Sen. Ransom:
How much do you want for Mr. Fitzgerald?

David C. Augur:
He's not for sale.

Sen. Ransom:
[Cynically] I understood he was.

Frances Augur:
You needn't smile quite so cordially when you tip hat check girls. Gives them ideas.

Stephen Fitzgerald:
Well, she gave me a couple.

David C. Augur:
Do you know the oldest and noblest occupation of them all?

Stephen Fitzgerald:
I think so.

David C. Augur:
[after an embarrassing pause] I mean politics.

Stephen Fitzgerald:
Well, you'll admit there are certain points of similarity.

Stephen Fitzgerald:
I thought the traditional thing for leprechauns was a glass of milk.

Tatie:
[Offended] Milk! Good night, Mr. Fitzgerald!

Stephen Fitzgerald:
You don't believe in the old superstitions?

Tatie:
I believe what my father knew and his father before him.

Stephen Fitzgerald:
Well, you stay here in the car in case someone comes along, and I'll scout up the road a bit. Must lead somewhere.

Bill Clark:
Don't be sure. Irish paths are whimsical - like the Irish character.