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The Irish job was something that had to be sorted out.

My father left Ireland because he did not want to muck horse manure for the rest of his life, and he wanted to come to New York.

My father's parents were Irish. Only a year before my father died, he and I went back to Ireland for a week to look at the old homestead.

When I went to England on my own, I became a busker. I played guitar for money in Leicester Square. And the guys who are supposedly blind and crippled, who aren't, got me after I'd collected a lot of money, took my money and threatened to break my arm if I ever came back to their 'kip,' their turf.

Being Irish was a big thing for me, particularly growing up in Chicago.

I couldn't fit in the Irish community in New York. I was never one of the boys because they would talk about baseball or basketball, and I knew nothing about it.

I think there's something about the Irish experience - that we had to have a sense of humor or die.

I came to Ireland 20 years ago as a student, hitch-hiking round for a week and staying in Dublin.

I can't think of anything you might say about Irish people that is absolutely true.