Michaleen Flynn: Two women in the house - and one of them a redhead!

Mary Kate Danaher: Could you use a little water in your whiskey?
Michaleen Flynn: When I drink whiskey, I drink whiskey; and when I drink water, I drink water.

Mary Kate Danaher: Father, could I... tell you in the Irish?
Father Peter Lonergan, Narrator: [distracted, fishing] Sea, sea.
Mary Kate Danaher: [very hesitantly] Níor lig mé m'fhear chéile isteach i mo leaba liom aréir. Chuir mé fuinneamh air a chodladh i - Ó, i mála codlata! Mála codlata!
Father Peter Lonergan, Narrator: Céad é sin? "Bag?"
Mary Kate Danaher: Sleeping bag, Father, with... with buttons! Más breá é, níor rith sé ar a shon. An peaca é?
Father Peter Lonergan, Narrator: [exasperated] Woman, Ireland may be a poor country, God help us. But here, a married man sleeps in a bed, not a bag!

Michaleen Flynn: No patty-fingers, if you please. The proprieties at all times. Hold on to your hats.

[first lines]
Father Peter Lonergan, Narrator: Well, then. Now. I'll begin at the beginnin'. A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn't have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin' rod.