What's with all these oddball phrases like:

'When the wings of time rise on the ocean of the soul,
there . . . there I shall find my heart's home'

and assorted bollocks?

When did anyone talk like this in any other language but the English of daft White middle class Americans from California?

It seems to me the height of ethnocentricism to think one's oh-so-profound (i.e. meaningless) thoughts are somehow 'timeless' just because no-one ever told you to cop on

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__̴ı̴̴̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡*̡̡ ̴̡ı̴̴̡ ̡̡͡|̲̲̲͡͡͡ ̲▫̲͡ ̲̲̲͡͡π̲̲͡͡ ̲̲͡▫̲̲͡͡ ̲|̡̡̡ ̡ ̴̡ı̴̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡̡.___

I was asked to translate such weird things also from French to Breton, Irish or Scottish Gaelic... it's not something specific to white middle class Americans from California

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Is fearr Gaeilg na Gaeltaċta ná Gaeilg ar biṫ eile
Agus is í Gaeilg Ġaoṫ Doḃair is binne

I suppose. I'm probably in a grumpy mood for some reason.

On the plus side, I've found a good lot of homophones in Irish for the other thread

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__̴ı̴̴̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡*̡̡ ̴̡ı̴̴̡ ̡̡͡|̲̲̲͡͡͡ ̲▫̲͡ ̲̲̲͡͡π̲̲͡͡ ̲̲͡▫̲̲͡͡ ̲|̡̡̡ ̡ ̴̡ı̴̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡̡.___

Seriously? Stereotype much? That sounds like a line from a poem or song that could have been written by someone from just about anywhere.

People ask for translations for things they find moving, whether other people find them moving or not. One thing I've found in my 10 years hanging out on Irish forums is that most people don't understand just how difficult it is to translate poetry from one language to another.

Redwolf (aka a daft white middle-class American from California)

P.S. It could be worse. At least it's not yet another request for "None but God may judge me" or "Live, Laugh, Love."

Because love soars on wings of hope that never rest.

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The dialect I use is Cork Irish.
Ar sgáth a chéile a mhairid na daoine, lag agus láidir, uasal is íseal

And what if you have a heavy heart? Will the wings get tired?

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__̴ı̴̴̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡*̡̡ ̴̡ı̴̴̡ ̡̡͡|̲̲̲͡͡͡ ̲▫̲͡ ̲̲̲͡͡π̲̲͡͡ ̲̲͡▫̲̲͡͡ ̲|̡̡̡ ̡ ̴̡ı̴̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡̡.___

No, because they are made out of love and if they tire they can always rest on the branch of understanding.

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The dialect I use is Cork Irish.
Ar sgáth a chéile a mhairid na daoine, lag agus láidir, uasal is íseal

And no doubt if the branch should break it'll be caught in the wind of compassion where it will float onto the water of hope to be borne on the river of enchantment to the ocean of eternity

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__̴ı̴̴̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡ ̡͌l̡*̡̡ ̴̡ı̴̴̡ ̡̡͡|̲̲̲͡͡͡ ̲▫̲͡ ̲̲̲͡͡π̲̲͡͡ ̲̲͡▫̲̲͡͡ ̲|̡̡̡ ̡ ̴̡ı̴̡̡ ̡͌l̡̡̡̡.___

Is this how a cult starts?

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Heh, heh, you all are killing me!