John Boyle O'Reilly Quotes

The entire time I was in Portland, which was the five years, I had absolutely no contact with any of my family.

Honestly, when I'm out there, I really don't even think about them as guys with names. I look at them as numbers.

A lot of boxers get along well. But if you have to fight each other, then leave that relationship behind.

Absence makes the heart grow frozen, not fonder.

People wonder why I dislike my opponents. It's not personal or that I hate them: it's just that I know what I've had to sacrifice to face them.

I'm about fighting the best guys.

People want to see me fight all sorts of people out there.

I hate the feeling when I'm overseas, away from Australia, that I'm trapped, blocked by an ocean from getting to the people I love. That gives me anxiety.

I can't relate to these haters, my enemies never made it.

I don't know what she is now. A stranger, mostly. It's as if she has become a part of a different world, one that doesn't include me anymore.

Distance is a great promoter of admiration.

There's no way to convince her that just because you put half. planet between you and someone else, you can't drive that person out of your thoughts. Believe me. I've tried.

And I have tried to forget him, I have tried to convince myself that it was just one of those things, but it’s difficult to do that when my body is standing here, eight feet deep in the earth of northern France, while my heart remains by a stream in a clearing in England where I left it weeks ago.

...whether he stayed or left, whether they walked the same path or not. They could live on opposite sides of the world, and she would still be his.

You said you're going far away," Tamaru said. "How far away are we talking about?" "It's a distance that can't be measured." "Like the distance that separates one person's heart from another's.

Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.

The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

The opposite of love is not to hate but to separate. If love and hate have something in common it is because, in both cases, their energy is that of bringing and holding together

If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by riptide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?

On the eve of long voyages or an absence of many years, friends who are tenderly attached will seperate with the usual look, the usual pressure of the hand, planning one final interview for the morrow, while each well knows that it is but a poor feint to save the pain of uttering that one word, and the meeting will never be. Should possibilities be worse to bear than certainties?

No distance can keep anxious lovers long asunder.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it sure makes the rest of you lonely.

Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

There could have never been two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.