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The causes of his embitterment were many, remote and near. He was angry with himself for being young and the prey of restless foolish impulses, angry also with the change of fortune which was reshaping the world about him into a vision of squalor and insincerity. Yet his anger lent nothing to the vision. He chronicled with patience what he saw, detaching himself from it and tasting its mortifying flavour in secret. By James Joyce Remote Embitterment Angry Vision Impulses

But though there were different names for God in all the different languages in the world and God understood what all the people whoprayed said in their different languages still God remained always thesame God and God's real name was God. By James Joyce God Languages World Understood People

I feel more strongly with every recurring year that our country has no tradition which does it so much honour and which it should guard so jealously as that of its hospitality. It is a tradition that is unique as far as my experience goes (and I have visited not a few places abroad) among the modern nations. Some would say, perhaps, that with us it is rather a failing than anything to be boasted of. But granted even that, it is, to my mind, a princely failing, and one that I trust will long be cultivated among us. Of one thing, at least, I am sure. As long as this one roof shelters the good ladies aforesaid- and I wish from my heart it may do so for many and many a long year to come- the tradition of genuine warm-hearted courteous Irish hospitality, which our forefathers have handed down to us and which we must hand down to our descendants, is still alive among us. By James Joyce Tradition Feel Strongly Recurring Country

Art is the human disposition of sensible or intelligible matter for an esthetic end. By James Joyce Art End Human Disposition Intelligible

Truth is beheld by the intellect which is appeased by the most satisfying relations of the intelligible; beauty is beheld by the imagination which is appeased by the most satisfying relations of the sensible. The first step in the direction of truth is to understand the frame and scope of the intellect itself, to comprehend the act itself of intellection. Aristotle's entire system of philosophy rests upon his book of psychology and that, I think, rests on his statement that the same attribute cannot at the same time and in the same connexion belong to and not belong to the same subject. The first step in the direction of beauty is to understand the frame and scope of the imagination, to comprehend the act itself of esthetic apprehension. By James Joyce Beheld Appeased Satisfying Relations Truth

A dim antagonism gathered force within him and darkened his mind as a cloud against her disloyalty: and when it passed, cloudlike, leaving his mind serene and dutiful towards her again, he was made aware dimly and without regret of a first noiseless sundering of their lives. By James Joyce Cloudlike Mind Disloyalty Passed Leaving

He would fall. He had not yet fallen but he would fall silently, in an instant. Not to fall was too hard, too hard: and he felt the silent lapse of his soul, as it would be at some instant to come, falling, falling but not yet fallen, still unfallen but about to fall. By James Joyce Fall Hard Fallen Falling Instant

She raises her arms in an effort to hook at the nape of her neck a gown of black veiling. She cannot: no, she cannot. She moves backwards towards me mutely. I raise my arms to help her: her arms fall. I hold the websoft edges of her gown and drawing them out to hook them I see through the opening of the black veil her lithe body sheathed in an orange shift. It slips its ribbons of moorings at her shoulders and falls slowly: a lithe smooth naked body shimmering with silvery scales. It slips slowly over the slender buttocks of smooth polished silver and over their furrow, a tarnished silver shadow.... Fingers, cold and calm and moving.... A touch, a touch. By James Joyce Arms Veiling Effort Nape Neck

He found trivial all that was meant to charm him and did not answer the glances which invited him to be bold. By James Joyce Bold Found Trivial Meant Charm

His wife was a little sharp-faced woman who bullied her husband when he was sober and was bullied by him when he was drunk. By James Joyce Bullied Drunk Wife Sharpfaced Woman

He went often to her little cottage outside Dublin; often they spent their evenings alone. Little by little, as their thoughts entangled, they spoke of subjects less remote. Her companionship was like a warm soil about an exotic. Many times she allowed the dark to fall upon them, refraining from lighting the lamp. The dark discreet room, their isolation, the music that still vibrated in their ears united them. This union exalted him, wore away the rough edges of his character, emotionalised his mental life. By James Joyce Dublin Cottage Spent Evenings Dark

Her antiquity in preceding and surviving succeeding tellurian generations: her nocturnal predominance: her satellitic dependence: her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, rising and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning: the forced invariability of her aspect: her indeterminate response to inaffirmative interrogation: her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her power to enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid delinquency: the tranquil inscrutability of her visage: the terribility of her isolated dominant resplendent propinquity: her omens of tempest and of calm: the stimulation of her light, her motion and her presence: the admonition of her craters, her arid seas, her silence: her splendour, when visible: her attraction, when invisible. By James Joyce Generations Predominance Dependence Reflection Phases

Theologians consider that it was the sin of pride, the sinful thought conceived in an instant: non serviam: I will not serve. That instant was his [Lucifer's] ruin. By James Joyce Lucifer Theologians Pride Serviam Serve

The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM! By James Joyce Imagination Intellectual Serviam

Ireland sober is Ireland stiff. Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, the load is with me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut! By James Joyce Ireland Maria Stiff Sober Madammangut

Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail's bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A poor soul gone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. By James Joyce Ugly Futile Lean Ink Bed

Her who whose beauty is not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the morning star which is its emblem, bright and musical. By James Joyce Dangerous Emblem Bright Musical Beauty

An abyss of fortune or of temperament sundered him from them. His mind seemed older than theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and regrets like a moon upon a younger earth. No life or youth stirred in him as it had stirred in them. He had known neither the pleasure of companionship with others nor the vigour of rude male health nor filial piety. Nothing stirred within his soul but a cold and cruel and loveless lust. His childhood was dead or lost and with it his soul capable of simple joys and he was drifting amid life like the barren shell of the moon. By James Joyce Stirred Abyss Fortune Temperament Sundered

And you'll miss me more as the narrowing weeks wing by. Someday duly, oneday truly, twosday newly, till whensday. By James Joyce Miss Narrowing Weeks Wing Someday

Lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a pinprick. By James Joyce God Lad Sigh Chris Callinan

For she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart, sleeping in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candywhistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood's eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of moss and daphnedews, how all so still she lay, neath of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled, as fain would she anon, for soon again 'twill be, win me, woo me, wed me, ah weary me! By James Joyce Isobel Methinks Quietly Loved Prize

The tall form of the young professor of mental science discussing on the landing a case of conscience with his class like a giraffe cropping high leafage among a herd of antelopes By James Joyce Antelopes Tall Form Young Professor

Saying that a great genius is mad, while at the same time recognizing his artistic worth, is like saying that he had rheumatism or suffered from diabetes. Madness, in fact, is a medical term that can claim no more notice from the objective critic than he grants the charge of heresy raised by the theologian, or the charge of immorality raised by the police. By James Joyce Mad Worth Diabetes Charge Great

As we, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, from day to day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. And as the mole on my right breast is where it was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stuff time after time, so through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unliving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in the future, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be. By James Joyce Weave Unweave Day Dana Stephen

Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. By James Joyce Leopold Bloom Fowls Ate Relish

Ulysses is son to Laertes, but he is father to Telemachus, husband to Penelope, lover of Calypso, companion in arms of the Greek warriors around Troy, and King of Ithaca. He was subjected to many trials, but with wisdom and courage came through them all ... he is a complete man as well, a good man. By James Joyce Laertes Telemachus Penelope Calypso Troy

What dreams would he have, not seeing. Life a dream for him. Where is the justice being born that way? By James Joyce Life Dreams Dream Justice Born

I came in at half past eleven. Since then I have been sitting in an easy chair like a fool. I could do nothing. I hear nothing but your voice. I am like a fool hearing you call me 'Dear.' I offended two men today by leaving them coolly. I wanted to hear your voice, not theirs. When I am with you I leave aside my contemptuous, suspicious nature. I wish I felt your head on my shoulder. By James Joyce Eleven Half Past Voice Fool

They have no mercy on that here or infanticide. Refuse christian burial. They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasn't broken already. By James Joyce Infanticide Mercy Refuse Burial Grave

Death, a cause of terror to the sinner, is a blessed moment for him who has walked in the right path. By James Joyce Death Sinner Path Terror Blessed

All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the water's Monotone. The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing Where I go. I hear the noise of many waters Far below. All day, all night, I hear them flowing To and fro. By James Joyce Sad Monotone Noise Hear Making

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. By James Joyce Midstream Gazing Sea Girl Stood

He remembered well, with the curious patient memory of the celibate, the first casual caresses her dress, her breath, her fingers had given him ... He remembered well her eyes, the touch of her hand and his delirium ... By James Joyce Remembered Celibate Dress Breath Curious

- Then, said Cranly, you do not intend to become a protestant? - I said that I had lost the faith, Stephen answered, but not that I had lost self-respect. What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent? By James Joyce Cranly Protestant Intend Stephen Lost

But he could no longer disbelieve in the reality of love, since God Himself had loved his individual soul with divine love from all eternity. Gradually, as his soul was enriched with spiritual knowledge, he saw the whole world forming one vast symmetrical expression of God's power and love. Life became a divine gift for every moment and sensation of which, were it even the sight of a single leaf hanging on the twig of a tree, his soul should praise and thank the Giver. The world for all its solid substance and complexity no longer existed for his soul save as a theorem of divine power and love and universality. By James Joyce God Soul Love Eternity Divine

Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the mountains. Near are lakes. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. Aroma rises, a strong hair growth of resin. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity, nude, white, still, cool, in luxury. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet wine grapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring. By James Joyce Gazelles Leaping Feeding Mountains Roses

Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure. By James Joyce Escaped Side Door Duties Adventure

His eyes were dimmed with tears, and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost. By James Joyce Tears Heaven Lost Eyes Dimmed

- Alone, quite alone. You have no fear of that. And you know what that word means? Not only to be separate from all others but to have not even one friend. - I will take the risk, said Stephen. - And not to have any one person, Cranly said, who would be more than a friend, more even than the noblest and truest friend a man ever had. By James Joyce Friend Stephen Cranly Fear Risk

He was sitting in the midst of a children's party at Harold's Cross. His silent watchful manner had grown upon him and he took little part in the games. The children, wearing the spoils of their crackers, danced and romped noisily and, though he tried to share their merriment, he felt himself a gloomy figure amid the gay cocked hats and sunbonnets.But when he had sung his song and withdrawn into a snug corner of the room he began to taste the joy of his loneliness. The mirth, which in the beginning of the evening had seemed to him false and trivial, was like a sothing air to him, passing gaily by his senses, hiding from other eyes the feverish agitation of his blood while through the circling of the dancers and amid the music and laughter her glance travelled to his corner, flattering, taunting, searching, exciting his heart. By James Joyce Cross Harold Children Sitting Midst

Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two with his toes to the daisies ? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are. Lots of them lying around here : lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps : damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth, Lazarus!* And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure. By James Joyce Day Daisies Price Feet Toes

You ask me why I don't love you, but surely you must believe I am very fond of you and if to desire to possess a person wholly, to admire and honour that person deeply, and to seek to secure that person's happiness in every way is to "love" then perhaps my affection for you is a kind of love. I will tell you this that your soul seems to me to be the most beautiful and simple soul in the world and it may be because I am so conscious of this when I look at you that my love or affection for you loses much of its violence. By James Joyce Person Love Affection Wholly Deeply

Are you not weary of ardent ways, Lure of the fallen seraphim? Tell no more of enchanted days. Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze And you have had your will of him. Are you not weary of ardent ways? Above the flame the smoke of praise Goes up from ocean rim to rim. Tell no more of enchanted days. Our broken cries and mournful lays Rise in one eucharistic hymn. Are you not weary of ardent ways? While sacrificing hands upraise The chalice flowing to the brim. Tell no more of enchanted days. And still you hold our longing gaze With languorous look and lavish limb! Are you not weary of ardent ways? Tell no more of enchanted days. By James Joyce Lure Days Weary Ardent Enchanted

A poet, yes, but an Englishman too. Do you know what is the pride of the English? Do you know what is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? The seas' ruler. His seacold eyes looked on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on my words, unhating. - That on his empire, Stephen said, the sun never sets. - Ba! Mr Deasy cried. That's not English. A French Celt said that. By James Joyce Englishman Poet English Stephen Deasy

He had neither companions nor friends, church nor creed. He lived his spiritual life without any communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when they died. He performed these two social duties for old dignity's sake but conceded nothing further to the conventions which regulate the civic life. By James Joyce Friends Church Creed Companions Christmas

What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces? By James Joyce Kiss Put Mother Cheek Lips

In this life our sorrows are either not very long or not very great because nature either overcomes them by habits or puts an end to them by sinking under their weight. But in hell the torments cannot be overcome by habit, for while they are of terrible intensity they are at the same time of continual variety, each pain, so to speak, taking fire from another and re-endowing that which has enkindled it with a still fiercer flame. By James Joyce Weight Life Sorrows Long Great

His sensitive nature was still smarting under the lashes of an undivided and squalid way of life. His soul was still disquieted and cast down by the dull phenomenon of Dublin. He had emerged from a two years' spell of revery to find himself in the midst of a new scene, every event and figure of which affected him intimately, disheartened him or allured and, whether alluring or disheartening, filled him always with unrest and bitter thoughts. All the leisure which his school life left him was passed in the company of subversive writers whose jibes and violence of speech set up a ferment in his brain before they passed out of it into his crude writings. By James Joyce Sensitive Nature Smarting Lashes Undivided

The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside. By James Joyce Hillside Movements Work Revolutions World

A man who swearsbefore the world to love a woman till death part him and her is saneneither in the opinion of the philosopher who understands whatmutability is nor in the opinion of the man of the world whounderstands that it is safer to be a witness than an actor in suchaffairs. A man who swears to do something which it is not in his powerto do is not accounted a sane man. By James Joyce Opinion Man World Suchaffairs Swearsbefore

Love ... is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself By James Joyce Love Fact Unnatural Phenomenon Scarcely

Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. M. B. loves a fair gentlema. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Old Mr Verschole with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs VErschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. By James Joyce Loves Love Majesty Person Mrs

We who live under heaven, we of the clovery kindgom, we middlesins people have often watched the sky overreaching the land. By James Joyce Heaven Kindgom Land Live Clovery

Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRODI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see. By James Joyce Ineluctable Visible Thought Modality Diaphane

He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly: I am not thinking of the offence to my mother. By James Joyce Boldness Spoken Stephen Shielding Heart

Answer: They war loving, they love laughing, they laugh weeping, they weep smelling, they smell smiling, they smile hating, they hate thinking, they think feeling, they feel tempting, they tempt daring, they dare waiting, they wait taking, they take thanking, they thank seeking, (...) By James Joyce Answer Loving Laughing Weeping Smelling

Never let us do wrong, because our opponents did so. Let us, rather, by doing right, show them what they ought to have done, and establish a rule the dictates of reason and conscience, rather than of the angry passions. By James Joyce Wrong Opponents Show Conscience Passions

O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me youve no chances at all inthis place like you used long ago I wish somebody would write me a loveletter ... By James Joyce God Loveletter Great Give Badly

peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth By James Joyce Peered Call Attention Teeth Sideways

Frequent and violent temptations were a proof that the citadel of the soul had not fallen and that the devil raged to make it fall. By James Joyce Frequent Fall Violent Temptations Proof

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. By James Joyce Falling Dark Snow Window Light

Her image had passed into his soul for ever and no word had broken the holy silence of his ecstasy. Her eyes had called him and his soul had leaped at the call. To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on! By James Joyce Soul Life Image Passed Word

His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before. By James Joyce Tide Heart Danced Movements Cork

If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see when and how the shadow lifts. What softens the heart of a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre? By James Joyce Othello Hamlet Lear Troilus Cressida

The trees do not resent autumn nordoes any exemplary thing in nature resent its limitations. By James Joyce Limitations Resent Trees Autumn Nordoes

A few moments after he found himself on the stage amid the garish gas and the dim scenery, acting before the innumerable faces of the void. It surprised him to see that the play which he had known at rehearsals for a disjointed lifeless thing had suddenly assumed a life of its own. It seemed now to play itself, he and his fellow actors aiding it with their parts. When the curtain fell on the last scene he heard the void filled with applause and, through a rift in a side scene, saw the simple body before which he had acted magically deformed, the void of faces breaking at all points and falling asunder into busy groups. By James Joyce Void Scenery Acting Moments Found

The radiance of which he speaks is the scholastic quidditas, the whatness of a thing. The supreme quality is felt by the artist when the esthetic image is first conceived in his imagination. The mind in that mysterious instant Shelley likened beautifully to a fading coal. The instant wherein that supreme quality of beauty, the clear radiance of the esthetic image, is apprehended luminously by the mind which has been arrested by its wholeness and fascinated by its harmony is the luminous silent stasis of esthetic pleasure, a spiritual state very like to that cardiac condition which the Italian physiologist, Luigi Galvani, using a phrase almost as beautiful as Shelley's, called the enchantment of the heart. By James Joyce Esthetic Shelley Quidditas Thing Speaks

A day of dappled seaborne clouds.The phrase and the day and the scene harmonised in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No, it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of legend and colour? Or was it that, being as weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language manycoloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose? By James Joyce Day Chord Dappled Seaborne Cloudsthe

He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense. By James Joyce Body Sideglances Lived Distance Acts

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. By James Joyce Dedalus Solemnly Gunrest Forward Mounted

One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that Voyages in China that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea. Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Can't bury in the air however. Out of a flying machine. Wonder By James Joyce Fellow Corpse Chaps Make Short

Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding but resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, he allowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading still patiently, that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope it's not too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive one tabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick and neat. Print anything now. Silly season. He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell. Neat certainly. Matcham often thinks of the master-stroke by which he won the laughing witch who now. Begins and ends morally. Hand in hand. Smart. He glanced back through what he had read and, while feeling his water flow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and received payment of three pounds thirteen and six. By James Joyce Quietly Read Yielding Restraining Resisting

Come on, you winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you triple extract of infamy! Alexander J. Christ Dowie, that's yanked to glory most half this planet from 'Frisco Beach to Vladivostok. The Deity ain't no nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you that he's on the square and a corking fine business proposition. He's the grandest thing yet and don't you forget it. Shout salvation in king Jesus. You'll need to rise precious early, you sinner there, if you want to diddle the Almighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. He's got a coughmixture with a punch in it for you, my friend, in his backpocket. Just you try it on. By James Joyce Ginsizzling Winefizzling Booseguzzling Existences Half

Do you know what a pearl is and what an opal is? My soul when you came sauntering to me first through those sweet summer evenings was beautiful but with the pale passionless beauty of a pearl. Your love has passed through me and now I feel my mind something like an opal, that is, full of strange uncertain hues and colours, of warm lights and quick shadows and of broken music. By James Joyce Pearl Opal Soul Sauntering Sweet

General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free money, free rent, free sex and a free lay church in a free lay state. By James Joyce Universal Free General Amnesty Weekly

There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide there and wait. He may suffer their memory to grow dim, let them be as though they had not been and all but persuade himself that they were not or at least were otherwise. Yet a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will rise up to confront him in the most various circumstances, a vision or a dream, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the cool silver tranquility of the evening or at the feast, at midnight, when he is now filled with wine. Not to insult over him will the vision come as over one that lies under her wrath, not for vengeance to cut him off from the living but shrouded in the piteous vesture of the past, silent, remote, reproachful. By James Joyce Call Evil Wait Sins World

Never back a woman you defend, never get quit of a friend on whom you depend, never make face to a foe till he's rife and never get stuck to another man's pfife. By James Joyce Defend Depend Pfife Back Woman

God and religion before every thing!' Dante cried. 'God and religion before the world.' Mr Casey raised his clenched fist and brought it down on the table with a crash.'Very well then,' he shouted hoarsely, 'if it comes to that, no God for Ireland!''John! John!' cried Mr Dedalus, seizing his guest by the coat sleeve. Dante stared across the table, her cheeks shaking. Mr Casey struggled up from his chair and bent across the table towards her, scraping the air from before his eyes with one hand as though he were tearing aside a cobweb. 'No God for Ireland!' he cried, 'We have had too much God in Ireland. Away with God! By James Joyce God Ireland John Religion Casey

Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. By James Joyce Pain Love Fretted Heart Odour

Though their life was modest, they believed in eating well. By James Joyce Modest Life Believed Eating

They mouth love's language. GnashThe thirteen teethYour lean jaws grin with. LashYour itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,As sour as cat's breath,Harsh of tongue. By James Joyce Language Mouth Love Gnashthe Lashyour

Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life ... Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. By James Joyce Hatred Force History Life Opposite

What proposal did Bloom, diambulist, father of Milly, somnambulist, make to Stephen, noctambulist? By James Joyce Diambulist Somnambulist Noctambulist Bloom Milly

What birds were they? ( ... ) He listened to the cries: like the squeak of mice be- hind the wainscot : a shrill twofold note. But the notes were long and shrill and whirring, unlike the cry of vermin, falling a third or a fourth and trilled as the flying beaks clove the air. Their cry was shrill and clear and fine and falling like threads of silken light unwound from whirring spools. By James Joyce Shrill Birds Whirring Cry Falling

Broken Eggs will poursuive bitten Apples for where theirs is Will there's his Wall By James Joyce Wall Eggs Apples Broken Poursuive

What was after the universe?Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began? By James Joyce Universe Began Round Show Stopped

Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another s soul. By James Joyce Love Soul Understood Desire Good

Our flesh shrinks from what it dreads and responds to the stimulus of what it desires by a purely reflex action of the nervous system. Our eyelid closes before we are aware that the fly is about to enter our eye. By James Joyce System Flesh Shrinks Dreads Responds

He watched the scene and thought of life; and (as always happened when he thought of life) he became sad. A gentle melancholy took possession of him. He felt how useless it was to struggle against fortune, this being the burden of wisdom which the ages had bequeathed him. By James Joyce Life Thought Sad Watched Scene

Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet place to be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow music. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batch knelt at the altarrails. The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the thing in his hands. He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a drop or two (are they in water?) off it and put it neatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hat sank at once. Then the next one: a small old woman. The priest bent down to put it into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one. Shut your eyes and open your mouth. What? Corpus: body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it: only swallow it down. Rum idea: eating bits of a corpse. Why the cannibals cotton to it. By James Joyce Mouth Sodality Latin Murmuring Knelt

While you have a thing it can be taken from you ... ..but when you give it, you have given it. no robber can take it from you. It is yours then forever when you have given it. It will be yours always. That is to give. By James Joyce Thing Give Robber Forever

If there is any difficulty in what I write, it is because of the material I use. The thought is always simple. By James Joyce Write Difficulty Material Simple Thought

Mother is packing my new secondhand clothes. She prays now, she says, that I may learn in my own life and away from home and friends what the heart is and what it feels. Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscious of my race. By James Joyce Mother Clothes Packing Secondhand Life

Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of alltoo fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proudpromontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, onthe weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on thequiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness thevoice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to thestormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea. By James Joyce Mary Sea Howth Sandymount Strand

As he crossed Grattan Bridge he looked down the river towards the lower quays and pitied the poor stunted houses. They seemed to him a band of tramps, huddled together along the riverbanks, their old coats covered with dust and soot, stupefied by the panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night bid them arise, shake themselves and begone. By James Joyce Grattan Bridge Houses Crossed Looked

Going to a dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the Sailor roc's auk's egg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad the Brightdayler. By James Joyce Brightdayler Bed Sinbad Sailor Darkinbad

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foaming ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. By James Joyce Leda Bungiveagh Bungardilaun Brothers Brew

Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. Basta! I will see if I can see. See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end. By James Joyce Eyes Open Basta Moment Adiaphane

- Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position? - c'est le pigeon, Joseph. Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me in the bar MacMahon. Son of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris. My father's a bird, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. Lap, lapin. He hopes to win in the gros lots. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. Lent it to his friend. - C'est tordant, vous savez. Moi, je suis socialiste. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. - Il croit? - Mon pere, oui. By James Joyce Qui Position Joseph Mis Dans

Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are ... Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. By James Joyce Broken Heart Day Dead Pumping

By an epiphany he meant a sudden spiritual manifestation, whether in the vulgarity of speech or of gesture or memorable phrase of the mind itself. He believed it was for the man of letters to record these epiphanies with extreme care (saving them for later use, that is), seeing that they themselves are the most delicate and evanescent of moments. By James Joyce Manifestation Epiphany Meant Sudden Spiritual

There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought, I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind, for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. He had often said to me: I am not long for this world and I had thought his words idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work. By James Joyce Night Time Word Stroke Lighted

Oblige me by taking away that knife. I can't look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history. By James Joyce Oblige Knife Taking Roman History

Like the tender fire of stars moments of their life together, that no one knew of or would ever know of, broke upon and illumined his memory. He longed to recall to her those moments, to make her forget the years of their dull existence together and remember only their moments of ecstasy. By James Joyce Moments Broke Memory Tender Fire

He walked there, reading in the evening and heard the cries of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the quiet evening. He was their rector: his reign was mild. By James Joyce Evening Cries Reading Play Young

What is better than to sit at the end of the day and drink wine with friends, or substitutes for friends? By James Joyce Friends Sit End Day Drink

Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he would ascent to an angelical stature; and, as he attached the fervent nature of his companion more and more closely to him, he heard the strange impersonal voice which he recognised as his own, insisting on the soul's incurable lonliness. We cannot give ourselves, it said: we are our own. By James Joyce Voice Caught Listening Sound Stature

You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman. By James Joyce Kingdom Heaven Violence Woman Forget

My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out. By James Joyce Tears Eyes Full Times Flood

And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart? By James Joyce Harshly Life Simple Judged Bird

The important thing is not what we write but how we write, and in my opinion the modern writer must be an adventurer above all, willing to take every risk, and be prepared to founder in his effort if need be. In other words we must write dangerously By James Joyce Write Risk Important Thing Opinion

Three quarks for Muster Mark! By James Joyce Mark Muster Quarks

Numbers it is. All music when you come to think. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling. Always find out this equal to that, symmetry under a cemetery wall. He doesn't see my mourning. Callous: all for his own gut. Musemathematics. And you think you're listening to the etherial. But suppose you said it like: Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. Fall quite flat. It's on account of the sounds it is. By James Joyce Numbers Martha Vibrations Music Chords

In the wide land under a tender lucid evening sky, a cloud drifting westward amid a pale green sea of heaven, they stood together, children that had erred. By James Joyce Sky Heaven Children Erred Wide

He did not want to play. He wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantial image which his soul so constantly beheld. He did not know where to seek it or how, but a premonition which led him on told him that this image would, without any overt act of his, encounter him. They would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their tryst, perhaps at one of the gates or in some more secret place. They would be alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness he would be transfigured.He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment he would be transfigured. Weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment. By James Joyce Play Moment Image Meet Beheld

Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuee! Nuee! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream ... there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears ... for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I'se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay! By James Joyce Nuvoletta Nuee Reflected Time Long

He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition. By James Joyce Called Follow Rushed Barrier Passive

If we could only live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits. By James Joyce Rotten Loudly Guts Food Live

A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. By James Joyce Angel Beauty Life Glory Wild

My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to me the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent public under four of its aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity and public life. The stories are arranged in this order. I have written it for the most part in a style of scrupulous meanness and with the conviction that he is a very bold man who dares to alter in the presentment, still more to deform, whatever he has seen and heard. By James Joyce Dublin Paralysis Intention Write Chapter

And in spite of everything, Ireland remains the brain of the Kingdom. The English, judiciously practical and ponderous, furnish the over-stuffed stomach of humanity with a perfect gadgetthe water closet. The Irish, condemned to express themselves in a language not their own, have stamped on it the mark of their own genius and compete for glory with the civilized nations. This is then called English literature. By James Joyce Ireland Kingdom English Spite Remains

Rapid motion through space elates one; so does notoriety; so does the possession of money. By James Joyce Rapid Notoriety Money Motion Space

- The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered. - O, Haines said, you have heard it before? - Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily. - You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked . I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God. - There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.21 By James Joyce Jesus Stephen Haines Answered Word

There was a lust of wandering in his feet that burned to set out for the ends of the earth. On! On! his heart seemed to cry. Evening would deepen above the sea, night fall upon the plains, dawn glimmer before the wanderer and show him strange fields and hills and faces. Where? By James Joyce Earth Lust Wandering Feet Burned

A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. By James Joyce Adam Environs Eve Howth Castle

It was strange too that he found an arid pleasure in following up to the end the rigid lines of the doctrines of the church and penetrating into obscure silences only to hear and feel the more deeply his own condemnation. The sentence of saint James which says that he who offends against one commandment becomes guilty of all, had seemed to him first a swollen phrase until he had begun to grope in the darkness of his own state. From the evil seed of lust all other deadly sins had sprung forth: pride in himself and contempt of others, covetousness In using money for the purchase of unlawful pleasures, envy of those whose vices he could not reach to and calumnious murmuring against the pious, gluttonous enjoyment of food, the dull glowering anger amid which he brooded upon his longing, the swamp of spiritual and bodily sloth in which his whole being had sunk. By James Joyce Condemnation Strange Found Arid End

A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song : I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. her door was open : she wanted to hear my music. silent with aw and pity i went to her bedside. she was crying in her wretched bed for these words, Stephen : love's bitter mystery. By James Joyce Wholly Slowly Shadowing Green Cloud

It surprised him to see that the play which he had known at rehearsals for a disjointed lifeless thing had suddenly assumed a life of its own. By James Joyce Surprised Play Rehearsals Disjointed Lifeless

The dull light fell more faintly upon the page whereon another equation began to unfold itself slowly and to spread abroad its widening tail. It was his own soul going forth to experience, unfolding itself sin by sin, spreading abroad the balefire o fits burning stars and folding back upon itself, fading slowly, quenching its own lights and fires. they were quenched; and the cold darkness filled chaos. By James Joyce Tail Slowly Abroad Dull Fell

I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world. By James Joyce World Desire Press Arms Loveliness

You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought. By James Joyce Stephen Displeasure Thought Behold Grim

A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain. His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore. By James Joyce Brain Warm Human Plumpness Settled

Dress the pussy for her nighty and follow her piggytails up their way to Winkyland. By James Joyce Winkyland Dress Pussy Nighty Follow

A duodene of bird notes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hand. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leave-taking, life's, love's morn. By James Joyce Hand Morn Duodene Bird Notes

To say that a great genius is mad, while at the same time recognizing his artistic merit, is no better than to say he is rheumatic or diabetic. By James Joyce Mad Merit Diabetic Great Genius

Ah, poor dogsbody! Here lies poor dogsbody's body. By James Joyce Poor Dogsbody Body Lies

We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. We were never loyal to the successful. We serve them. I teach the blatant Latin language. I speak the tongue of a race the acme of whose mentality is the maxim: time is money. Material domination. By James Joyce Loyal Lost Professor Success Imagination

You can still die when the sun is shining. By James Joyce Shining Die Sun

Time was to sin and to enjoy, time was to scoff at God and at the warnings of His holy church, time was to defy His majesty, to disobey His commands, to hoodwink one's fellow men, to commit sin after sin and to hide one's corruption from the sight of men. By James Joyce Time Sin Men God Enjoy

Stand forth, Nayman of Noland (for no longer will I follow you obliquelike through the inspired form of the third person singular and the moods and hesitensies of the deponent but address myself to you, with the empirative of my vendettative, provocative and out direct), stand forth, come boldly, jolly me, move me, zwilling though I am, to laughter in your true colours ere you be back for ever till I give you your talkingto! By James Joyce Stand Nayman Noland Vendettative Provocative

Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. By James Joyce Ireland Eire Save Trees Future

You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too. By James Joyce Fear Made Confess Mistake Leave

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah! Elijah! And he answered with a main cry: Abba! Adonai! And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. By James Joyce Beheld Elijah Brightness Chariot Heaven

He had sinned mortally not once but many times and he knew that, while he stood in danger of eternal damnation for the first sin alone, by every succeeding sin he multiplied his guilt and his punishment. His days and works and thoughts could make no atonement for him, the fountains of sanctifying grace having ceased to refresh his soul. By James Joyce Sin Punishment Sinned Mortally Times

He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry. Then he read the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till he came to his own name. That was he: and he read down the page again. What was after the universe?Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?It could not be a wall; but there could be a thin thin line there all round everything. It was very big to think about everything and everywhere. Only God could do that. He tried to think what a big thought that must be; but he could only think of God. God was God's name just as his name was Stephen. By James Joyce Read God Poetry Verses Backwards

My heart is quite calm now. I will go back. By James Joyce Heart Calm Back

It grieved him plaguily, he said, to see the nuptial couch defrauded of its dearest pledges: and to reflect upon so many agreeable females with rich jointures, a prey for the vilest bonzes, who hide their flambeau under a bushel in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanly bloom in the embraces of some unaccountable muskin when they might multiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their sex when a hundred pretty fellows were at hand to caress, this, he assured them, made his heart weep. By James Joyce Plaguily Pledges Jointures Bonzes Happiness

Passed Grogan's the Tobacconist against which newsboards leaned and told of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. In America those things were continually happening. Unfortunate people to die like that, unprepared. Still, an act of perfect contrition. By James Joyce York Grogan Tobacconist Passed Newsboards

[Robinson Crusoe] is the true prototype of the British colonist. The whole Anglo-Saxon spirit is in Crusoe: the manly independence, the unconscious cruelty, the persistence, the slow yet efficient intelligence, the sexual apathy, the calculating taciturnity. By James Joyce Crusoe Robinson British Colonist True

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. By James Joyce Call Attention Points Peered Sideways

In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls: and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of the cricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountain falling softly in the brimming bowl. By James Joyce Pick Pack Pock Puck Balls

Ay say aye. I affirmly swear to it that it rooly and cooly boolyhooly was with my holyhagionous lips continuously poised upon the rubricated annuals of saint ulstar. By James Joyce Aye Ulstar Affirmly Swear Rooly

The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime. By James Joyce Lieftime Pleasures Love Fleeting Pledges

There was no doubt about it: if you wanted to succeed you had to go away. You could do nothing in Dublin. By James Joyce Doubt Wanted Succeed Dublin

I think of you so often you have no idea. By James Joyce Idea

I am, a stride at a time By James Joyce Time Stride

I've been working hard on [Ulysses] all day," said Joyce. Does that mean that you have written a great deal?" I said. Two sentences," said Joyce. I looked sideways but Joyce was not smiling. I thought of [French novelist Gustave] Flaubert. "You've been seeking the mot juste?" I said. No," said Joyce. "I have the words already. What I am seeking is the perfect order of words in the sentence. By James Joyce Ulysses Joyce Day Working Hard

Beauty: it curves, curves are beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires. By James Joyce Beauty Venus Juno Curves Shapely

( ... ) You cruel creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop. By James Joyce Creature Fullstop Cruel Mite Thing

( ... ) The new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Specch, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the People. By James Joyce Commerce Amor Publicity Manufacture Gastronomy

Be just before you are generous. By James Joyce Generous

Ulysses He ... saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid flatong flower. By James Joyce Ulysses Floating Thousands Flower Dark

I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me. By James Joyce Night Live Care Day Long

And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes. By James Joyce Asked Eyes Heart Mad

Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic. By James Joyce Horseness Allhorse Whatness God Streams

Stephen picks up on Armstrong's pier, and calls Kingstown pier "a disappointed bridge" (2.22). He's joking about the fact that Ireland wanted to be connected to continental Europe but ended up being extremely isolated. By James Joyce Pier Armstrong Kingstown Stephen Bridge

Heavenly weather really. If life was always like that. Cricket weather. Sit around under sunshades. Over after over. Out. They can't play it here. Duck for six wickets. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the Kildare street club with a slog to square leg. Donnybrook fair more in their line. And the skulls we were acracking when M'Carthy took the floor. Heatwave. Won't last. Always passing, the stream of life, which in the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all. By James Joyce Heavenly Life Weather Stream Captain

Though people may read more into Ulysses than I ever intended, who is to say that they are wrong: do any of us know what we are creating?Which of us can control our scribblings? They are the script of one's personality like your voice or your walk By James Joyce Ulysses Intended Wrong Creating Scribblings

Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home. By James Joyce Escaping Run Longest Home Round

He laughed to free his mind from his minds bondage. By James Joyce Bondage Laughed Free Mind Minds

Why was the host (victim predestined) sad? He wished that a tale of a deed should be told of a deed not by him should by him not be told. By James Joyce Sad Host Victim Predestined Deed

No, it did a lot of other things, too. [turning down fan who asked to kiss the hand that wrote Ulysses By James Joyce Things Ulysses Lot Turning Fan

They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasn't broken already. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Ulysses By James Joyce Grave Drive Stake Wood Heart

And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him. By James Joyce Lies Told Hold Proverbial Candle

The pity is that the public will demand and find a moral in my book, or worse they may take it in some serious way, and on the honour of a gentleman, there is not one single serious word in it. By James Joyce Book Gentleman Pity Public Demand

The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue... By James Joyce Tongue Sacred Pint Unbind

I smiled at him. America, I said quietly, just like that. What is it? The sweepings of every country including our own. Isn't that true? That's a fact. By James Joyce Smiled America Quietly True Fact

Shite and onions! By James Joyce Shite Onions

The feelings excited by improper art are kinetic, desire, or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to something. The arts which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper arts By James Joyce Desire Kinetic Loathing Improper Feelings

The tragic emotion, in fact, is a face looking two ways, towards terror and towards pity, both of which are phases of it. You see I use the word ARREST. I mean that the tragic emotion is static. Or rather the dramatic emotion is. The feelings excited by improper art are kinetic, desire or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to something; loathing urges us to abandon, to go from something. The arts which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper arts. The esthetic emotion (I used the general term) is therefore static. The mind is arrested and raised above desire and loathing. By James Joyce Emotion Tragic Fact Pity Desire

Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I HARDLY HEAR THE PURLIEU CRY OR A TOMMY TALK AS I PASS ONE BY BEFORE MY THOUGHTS BEGIN TO RUN ON F. M'CURDY ATKINSON, THE SAME THAT HAD THE WOODEN LEG AND THAT FILIBUSTERING FILIBEG THAT NEVER DARED TO SLAKE HIS DROUTH, MAGEE THAT HAD THE CHINLESS MOUTH. BEING AFRAID TO MARRY ON EARTH THEY MASTURBATED FOR ALL THEY WERE WORTH.Jest on. Know thyself. By James Joyce Trilling Mulligan Hear Purlieu Cry

His words were then these as followeth: Know all men, he said, time's ruins build eternity's mansions. What means this? Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. Omnis cam ad te veniet By James Joyce Followeth Men Mansions Ruins Build

Each lost soul will be a hell unto itself, the boundless fire raging in its very vitals. By James Joyce Vitals Lost Soul Hell Boundless

I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defense the only arms I allow myself to use silence, exile, and cunning. By James Joyce Exile Home Fatherland Church Silence

You don't know yet what money is. Money is power, when you have lived as long as I have. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say? Put money in thy purse. By James Joyce Money Shakespeare Power Lived Long

If that is rhythm, said Lynch, let me hear what you call beauty: and, please remember, though I did eat a cake of cowdung once, that I admire only beauty. By James Joyce Lynch Beauty Rhythm Remember Hear

Towards dawn he awoke. O what sweet music! His soul was all dewy wet. Over his limbs in sleep pale cool waves of light had passed. He lay still, as if his soul lay amid cool waters, conscious of faint sweet music. His mind was waking slowly to a tremulous morning knowledge, a morning inspiration. A spirit filled him, pure as the purest water, sweet as dew, moving as music. But how faintly it was inbreathed, how passionlessly, as if the seraphim themselves were breathing upon him! His soul was waking slowly, fearing to awake wholly. It was that windless hour of dawn when madness wakes and strange plants open to the light and the moth flies forth silently. By James Joyce Music Soul Awoke Sweet Waking

- Is the brother with you, Malachi? - Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons. - Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. Photo girl he calls her. - Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure. By James Joyce Malachi Westmeath Brother Snapshot Bannons

She asked him why did he not write out his thoughts. For what, he asked her, with careful scorn. To compete with phrasemongers, incapable of thinking consecutively for sixty seconds? To submit himself to the criticisms of an obtuse middle class which entrusted its morality to policemen and its fine arts to impressarios? By James Joyce Thoughts Asked Write Scorn Careful

For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers. By James Joyce Years Felt Soul Quenched

The equation on the page ... began to spread out a widening tail, eyed and starred like a peacock's; and, when the eyes and stars of its indices had been eliminated, began slowly to fold itself together again. The indices appearing and disappearing were eyes opening and closing; the eyes opening and closing were stars being born and being quenched. By James Joyce Eyes Page Began Equation Opening

When the Irishman is found outside of Ireland in another environment, he very often becomes a respected man. The economic and intellectual conditions that prevail in his own country do not permit the development of individuality. No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove. By James Joyce Irishman Ireland Environment Man Found

And it was the din of all these hollow-sounding voices that made him halt irresolutely in the pursuit of phantoms. He gave them ear only for a time but he was happy only when he was far from them, beyond their call, alone or in the company of phantasmal comrades. By James Joyce Phantoms Din Hollowsounding Voices Made

I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play. By James Joyce Play Call Wandering Thoughts Child

My mind rejects the whole present social order and Christianity - home, the recognised virtues, classes of life, and religious doctrines By James Joyce Home Christianity Virtues Classes Life

Till tree from tree, tree among trees tree over tree become stone to stone, stone between stones, stone under stone for ever. O Loud, hear the wee beseech of thees of each of these thy unlitten ones! Grant sleep in hour's time, O Loud! That they take no chill. That they do ming no merder. That they shall not gomeet madhowiatrees. Loud, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughter low! By James Joyce Tree Stone Loud Till Trees

Through this image he had a glimpse of a strange dark cavern of speculation but at once turned away from it, feeling that it was not yet the hour to enter it. But the nightshade of his friend's listlessness seemed to be diffusing in the air around him a tenuous and deadly exhalation and he found himself glancing from one casual word to another on his right or left in stolid wonder that they had been so silently emptied of instantaneous sense until every mean shop legend bound his mind like the words of a spell and his soul shrivelled up, sighing with age as he walked on in a lane among heaps of dead language. His own consciousness of language was ebbing from his brain and trickling into the very words themselves which set to band and disband themselves in wayward rhythms:The ivy whines upon the wallAnd whines and twines upon the wallThe ivy whines upon the wallThe yellow ivy on the wallIvy, ivy up the wall.Did any one ever hear such drivel? By James Joyce Ivy Whines Feeling Image Glimpse

I have the words already. What I am seeking is the perfect order of words in the sentence. You can see for yourself how many different ways they might be arranged. By James Joyce Words Sentence Arranged Seeking Perfect

I am not likely to die of bashfulness but neither am I prepared to be crucified to attest the perfection of my art. I dislike to hear of any stray heroics on the prowl for me. By James Joyce Art Die Bashfulness Prepared Crucified

I am damnably sick of Italy, Italian and Italians, outrageously, illogically sick ... I hate to think that Italians ever did anything in the way of art ... What did they do but illustrate a page or so of the New Testament! They themselves think they have a monopoly in the line. I am dead tired of their bello and bellezza. By James Joyce Italy Italians Outrageously Sick Illogically

The philosophic mind inclines always to an elaborate lifethe life of Goethe or of Leonardo da Vinci; but the life of the poet isintensethe life of Blake or of Dantetaking into its centre the life that surrounds it and flinging it abroad again amid planetary music. By James Joyce Life Vinci Goethe Leonardo Blake

A dream of favours, a favourable dream. They know how they believe that they believe that they know. Wherefore they wail. By James Joyce Dream Favours Favourable Wherefore Wail

- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers. By James Joyce Buck Mulligan Mirror Wear Told

Some undefined sorrow was hidden in the hearts of the protagonists as they stood in silence beneath the leafless trees and when the moment of farewell had come the kiss, which had been withheld by one, was given by both. By James Joyce Kiss Undefined Sorrow Hidden Hearts

Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling. By James Joyce Gabriel Generous Filled Tears Eyes

And yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood. By James Joyce Blood Summons Foolish

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo By James Joyce Coming Road Time Moocow Tuckoo

When a demand for intelligent sympathy goes unanswered he is atoo stern disciplinarian who blames himself for having offered adullard an opportunity to participate in the warmer movement of a morehighly organised life. By James Joyce Life Demand Intelligent Sympathy Unanswered

... I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.- Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.- Wine of the country, says he.- What's yours? says Joe.- Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.- Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he. By James Joyce Joe Citizen Give Wine Terry

Lily, the caretaker's daughter, was literally run off her feet. Hardly had she brought one gentleman into the little pantry behind the office on the ground floor and helped him off with his overcoat, than the wheezy hall-door bell clanged again and she had to scamper along the bare hallway to let in another guest. It was well for her she had not to attend to the ladies also. By James Joyce Lily Daughter Feet Caretaker Literally

British Beatitudes! ... Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops. By James Joyce Beatitudes British Beer Beef Business

That is god ... A shout in the street,' Stephen answered ... By James Joyce God Stephen Street Answered Shout

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. By James Joyce Words Sad Music Wanted Cry

Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest. In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. They are still. Once quick in the brains of men. Still: but an itch of death is in them, to tell me in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to wreak their will. By James Joyce Coffined Mummycases Embalmed Words Thoughts

The most profound sentence ever written, Temple said with enthusiasm, is the sentence at the end of the zoology. Reproduction is the beginning of death. By James Joyce Temple Sentence Written Enthusiasm Zoology

We'll meet again, we'll part once more. By James Joyce Meet Part

I fear more than that the chemical action which would be set up in my soul by a false homage to a symbol behind which are massed twenty centuries of authority and veneration. By James Joyce Veneration Fear Chemical Action Set

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. By James Joyce Understand Sprang Lips Moments Strange

He found something mean in the pretty furniture which he had bought for his house on the hire system. Annie had chosen it herself and it reminded him of her. It too was prim and pretty. A dull resentment against his life awoke within him. Could he not escape from his little house? Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London? There was furniture still to be paid for. If he could only write a book and get it published, that might open the way for him. By James Joyce System Found Bought Hire Pretty

He heard the sob passing loudly down his father's throat and opened his eyes with a nervous impulse. The sunlight breaking suddenly on his sight turned the sky and clouds into a fantastic world of sombre masses with lakelike spaces of dark rosy light. His By James Joyce Impulse Heard Sob Passing Loudly

He closed his eyes in the languor of sleep. His eyelids trembled as if they felt the vast cyclic movement of the earth and her watchers, trembled as if they felt the strange light of some new world. His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic, dim, uncertain as under sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings. A world, a glimmer or a flower? Glimmering and trembling, trembling and unfolding, a breaking light, an opening flower, it spread in endless succession to itself, breaking in full crimson and unfolding and fading to palest rose, leaf by leaf and wave of light by wave of light, flooding all the heavens with its soft flushes, every flush deeper than the other. By James Joyce World Light Sleep Felt Trembled

No man, said the Nolan, can be a lover of the true or the good unless he abhors the multitude; and the artist, though he may employ the crowd, is very careful to isolate himself. By James Joyce Nolan Man Multitude Artist Crowd

She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. By James Joyce Eyes Gazing Sea Gaze Wantonness

Everything in Paris is gay," said Ignatius Gallaher. "They believe in enjoying lifeand don't you think they'reright? If you want to enjoy yourself properly you must go to Paris. And, mind you, they've a great feeling forthe Irish there. When they heard I was from Ireland they were ready to eat me, man. By James Joyce Gallaher Ignatius Paris Gay Theyreright

His mind seemed older than theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and regrets like a moon upon a younger earth. By James Joyce Earth Mind Older Shone Coldly

An improper art aims at exciting in the way of comedy the feeling of desire but the feeling which is proper to comic art is the feeling of joy. By James Joyce Feeling Art Joy Improper Aims

It is like looking down from the cliffs of Moher into the depths. Many go down into the depths and never come up. Only the trained diver can go down into those depths and explore them and come to the surface again. By James Joyce Moher Depths Cliffs Trained Diver

APRIL 16. Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone - come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth. By James Joyce April Arms Voices Roads Moon

EPISODE 2 As we there are where are we are we there from tomtittot to teetootomtotalitarian. Tea tea too oo. With his broad and hairy face, to Ireland a disgrace. SIC. Whom will comes over. Who to caps ever. And howelse do we hook our hike to find that pint of porter place? Am shot, says the big-guard. By James Joyce Episode Teetootomtotalitarian Tomtittot Tea Sic

His prayer, addressed neither to God nor saint, began with a shiver, as the chilly morning breeze crept through the chink of the carriage door to his feet, and ended in a trail of foolish words which he made to fit the insistent rhythm of the train; and silently, at intervals of four seconds, the telegraph-poles held the galloping notes of the music between punctual bars. By James Joyce God Prayer Addressed Saint Began

In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. By James Joyce Word Flesh Woman Womb Made

It was cold autumn weather, but in spite of the cold they wandered up and down the roads of the Park for nearly three hours. They agreed to break off their intercourse; every bond, he said, is a bond to sorrow. By James Joyce Park Cold Weather Hours Autumn

Jesus Christ, with His divine understanding of every understanding of our human nature, understood that not all men were called to the religious life, that by far the vast majority were forced to live in the world, and, to a certain extent, for the world. By James Joyce World Christ Understanding Jesus Nature

Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of sky line, the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand: and the tide was flowing in fast to the land with a low whisper of her waves, islanding a few last figures in distant pools. By James Joyce Evening Fallen Rim Line Sand

His brain was simmering and bubbling within the cracking tenement of the skull.Flames burst forth from his skull like a corolla,shrieking like voices: -Hell! Hell! Hell! Hell! Hell! By James Joyce Hell Voices Brain Simmering Bubbling

One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot. By James Joyce Language Cutanddry Plot Great Part

Love between man and woman is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse, and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse. By James Joyce Intercourse Man Woman Impossible Sexual

It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness ... By James Joyce High Long Breath Soaring Speeding

Bite my laughters, drink my tears. Pore into me, volumes, spell me stark and spill me swooning, I just don't care what my thwarters think. By James Joyce Bite Laughters Drink Tears Volumes

The romantic temper, so often and so grievously misinterpreted and not more by others than by its own, is an insecure, unsatisfied, and impatient temper which sees no fit abode here for its ideals and chooses therefore to behold them under insensible figures. As a result of this choice it comes to disregard certain limitations. Its figures are blown to wild adventures, lacking the gravity of solid bodies, and the mind that has conceived them ends by disowning them. By James Joyce Temper Unsatisfied Insecure Romantic Grievously

- I'm a believer in universal brotherhood, said Temple, glancing about him out of his dark oval eyes. Marx is only a bloody cod. By James Joyce Temple Brotherhood Glancing Eyes Believer

The artist ... standing in the position of mediator between the world of his experience and the world of his dreams - 'a mediator, consequently gifted with twin faculties, a selective faculty and a reproductive faculty.' To equate these faculties was the secret of artistic success. By James Joyce Artist World Mediator Faculty Faculties

He looked down the slope and, at the base, in the shadow of the wall of the Park, he saw some human figures lying. Those venal and furtive loves filled him with despair. He gnawed the rectitude of his life; he felt that he had been outcast from life's feast. By James Joyce Park Base Lying Looked Slope

Well, Tommy, he said, I wish you and yours every joy in life, old chap, and tons of money, and may you never die till I shoot you. And that's the wish of a sincere friend, an old friend. You know that? By James Joyce Tommy Life Chap Money Friend

I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. By James Joyce Lothing Small Thinking Cares Nights

Could it be that he, Stephen Dedalus, had done those things? His conscience sighed in answer. Yes, he had done them, secretly, filthily, time after time, and, hardened in sinful impenitence, he had dared to wear the mask of holinesss before the tabernacle itself while his soul within was a living mass of corruption. By James Joyce Stephen Dedalus Things Time Secretly

Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race. By James Joyce Life Race Encounter Millionth Time

All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: "O love! O love!" many times. By James Joyce Love Murmuring Feeling Trembled Senses

Don't you think there is a certain resemblance between the mystery of the Mass and what I am trying to do? ... To give people some kind of intellectual pleasure or spiritual enjoyment by converting the bread of everyday life into something that has a permanent artistic life of its own. By James Joyce Mass Resemblance Mystery Life Give

For journalists words are simply tokens to be arranged and rearranged indifferently. But for an artist there can be only one ideal order. By James Joyce Indifferently Journalists Words Simply Tokens

The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea. By James Joyce Sea Snotgreen Scrotumtightening

There's music along the river For Love wanders there,Pale flowers on his mantle, Dark leaves on his hair. By James Joyce Dark Love Mantle Hair Music

He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place. By James Joyce Sick Place Thought Heart

Every age must look for its sanction to its poetry and philosophy, for in these the human mind, as it looks backward or forward, attains to an eternal state. By James Joyce Philosophy Mind Forward Attains State

A Classical style ... is the syllogism of art, the only legitimate process from one world to another. Classicism is not the manner of any fixed age or of any fixed country; it is a constant state of the artistic mind. It is a temper of security and satisfaction and patience. By James Joyce Classical Style Art Syllogism Legitimate

Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude ... By James Joyce Unfacts Certitude Possess Imprecisely Warrant

His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop ofArmagh, primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the most reverend Dr WilliamAlexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the chiefrabbi, the presbyterian moderator, the heads of the baptist, anabaptist,methodist and Moravian chapels and the honorary secretary of the societyof friends. By James Joyce Ireland Primate Archbishop Logue Grace

Tenors get women by the score. By James Joyce Tenors Score Women

God made food; the devil the cooks. By James Joyce God Food Cooks Made Devil

White roses and red roses: those were beautiful colours to think of. And the cards for first place and second place and third place were beautiful colours too: pink and cream and lavender. Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps a wild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song about the wild rose blossoms on the little green place. But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could. By James Joyce Beautiful Colours Place Roses Rose

Their tunics bloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. By James Joyce Lampglow Black Polls Tunics Bloodbright

Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. By James Joyce Peck Piper Peter Pepper Pecked

A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her. By James Joyce Ship Billows Headland Sail Farewell

The past is consumed in the present and the present is living only because it brings forth the future. By James Joyce Present Future Past Consumed Living

Couldn't they invent something automatic so that the wheel itself much handier? Well but that fellow would lose his job then? Well but then another fellow would get a job making the new invention? By James Joyce Handier Invent Automatic Wheel Fellow

England is in the hands of the jews. In all the highest places: her finance, her press. And they are the signs of a nation's decay. Wherever they gather they eat up the nation's vital strength. I have seen it coming these years. As sure as we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction. Old England is dying. By James Joyce Hands England Nation Places Finance

All human history moves towards one great goal By James Joyce Goal Human History Moves Great

Ho, you pretty man, turn aside hither and I will show you a brave place, and she lay at him so flatteringly that she had him in her grot which is named Two-in-the-Bush or, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence. By James Joyce Carnal Concupiscence Man Turn Place

All those wretched quarrels, in his humble opinion, stirring up bad blood, from some bump of combativeness or gland of some kind, erroneously supposed to be about a punctilio of honour and a flag, were very largely a question of the money question which was at the back of everything greed and jealousy, people never knowing when to stop. By James Joyce Question Quarrels Opinion Stirring Blood

The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring. By James Joyce Spring Supreme Question Work Art

I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses By James Joyce Roses Love Place Swimming

YesIsaidyesyesyesyesyes...YesIsaidyes! andagainyesyesyes -- Molly Bloom By James Joyce Yesisaidyesyesyesyesyes Yesisaidyes Andagainyesyesyes Molly Bloom

Oh rocks!' says Molly Bloom, drumming her fingers in impatience. 'Tell us in plain words. By James Joyce Rocks Bloom Molly Drumming Impatience

There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being. By James Joyce Heresy Philosophy Abhorrent Church Human

He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow : his navel, bud of flesh : and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower. [84] By James Joyce Floating Lemonyellow Sustained Buoyed Upward

He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower. By James Joyce Naked Full Warmth Oiled Soap

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. By James Joyce Purling Widely Flowing Floating Foampool

He was angry with himself for being young and the prey of restless foolish impulses, angry also with the change of fortune which was reshaping the world about him into a vision of squalor and insincerity. Yet his anger lent nothing to the vision. By James Joyce Angry Impulses Insincerity Vision Young

Beauty, the splendour of truth, is a gracious presence when the imagination contemplates intensely the truth of its own being or the visible world, and the spirit which proceeds out of truth and beauty is the holy spirit of joy. These are realities and these alone give and sustain life. By James Joyce Truth Beauty Spirit World Joy

Imagine some foul and putrid corpse that has lain rotting and decomposing in the grave, a jelly-like mass of liquid corruption. Imagine such a corpse a prey to flames, devoured by the fire of burning brimstone and giving off dense choking fumes of nauseous loathsome decomposition. And then imagine this sickening stench, multiplied a millionfold and a millionfold again from the millions upon millions of fetid carcasses massed together in the reeking darkness, a huge and rotting human fungus. Imagine all this, and you will have some idea of the horror of the stench of hell. By James Joyce Imagine Corpse Grave Corruption Foul

His soul had arisen from the grave of boyhood, spurning hergrave-clothes. Yes! Yes! Yes! He would create proudly out of thefreedom and power of his soul, as the great artificer whose name hebore, a living thing, new and soaring and beautiful, impalpable,imperishable. By James Joyce Boyhood Spurning Hergraveclothes Arisen Grave

So beautiful of course compared with what a man looks like with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out of him or sticking up at you like a hatrack no wonder they hide it with a cabbageleaf By James Joyce Cabbageleaf Beautiful Compared Man Bags

Our path through life is strewn with many such sad memories: and were we to brood upon them always we could not find the heart to go on bravely with our work among the living ... therefore, I will not linger on the past. I will not let any gloomy moralising intrude ... By James Joyce Memories Living Path Life Strewn

Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, is honored by posterity because he was the last to discover America. By James Joyce Columbus America Christopher Honored Posterity

- You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God. - There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said. By James Joyce Word Believer Sense God Stephen

He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter. By James Joyce Music Shadow Listening Asked Woman

The whores would be just coming out of their houses making ready for the night, yawning lazily after their sleep and settling the hairpins in their clusters of hair. He would pass by them calmly waiting for a sudden movement of his own will or a sudden call to his sinloving soul from their soft perfumed flesh. By James Joyce Night Yawning Hair Whores Coming

The leaning of sophists toward the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity. The highroads are dreary but they lead to the town. By James Joyce Quantity Leaning Sophists Bypaths Apocrypha

Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and a bottle. By James Joyce Love Man Woman Bottle Cork

He could have flung his arms about her hips and held her still, for his arms were trembling with desire to seize her and only the stress of his nails against the palms of his hands held the wild impulse of his body in check. By James Joyce Arms Held Check Flung Hips

White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all! By James Joyce White Tea Pudding Eggs Sausages

Neither he nor she had had any such adventure before and neither was conscious of any incongruity. Little by little he entangled his thoughts with hers. He lent her books, provided her with ideas, shared his intellectual life with her. She listened to all.Sometimes in return for his theories, she gave out some fact of her own life. With almost maternal solicitude, she urged him to let his nature open to the full; she became his confessor. By James Joyce Incongruity Adventure Conscious Life Entangled

Of course, Mr B. proceeded to stipulate, you must look at both sides of the question. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast rules as to right and wrong but room for improvement all round there certainly is though every country, they say, our own distressful included, has the government it deserves. But with a little goodwill all round. It's all very fine to boast of mutual superiority but what about mutual equality. I resent violence and intolerance in any shape or form. It never reaches anything or stops anything. A revolution must come on the due instalments plan. It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular, in the next house so to speak. By James Joyce Round Stipulate Question Proceeded Sides

Mistakes are the portals of discovery. By James Joyce Mistakes Discovery Portals

Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. By James Joyce Lies Questions Hear

The spirit of quarrelsome comradeship which he had observed lately in his rival had not seduced Stephen from his habits of quiet obedience. He mistrusted the turbulence and doubted the sincerity of such comradeship which seemed to him a sorry anticipation of manhood. By James Joyce Stephen Obedience Comradeship Spirit Quarrelsome

Her beliefs were not extravagant. She believed steadily in the Sacred Heart as the most generally useful of all Catholic devotions and approved of the sacraments. Her faith was bounded by her kitchen but, if she was put to it, she could believe also in the banshee and in the Holy Ghost. By James Joyce Extravagant Beliefs Sacred Heart Catholic

I confess that I do not see what good it does to fulminate against the English tyranny while the Roman tyranny occupies the palace of the soul. By James Joyce English Roman Tyranny Soul Confess

I think Christmas is never really Christmas unless we have the snow on the ground. By James Joyce Christmas Ground Snow

Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquillity sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. By James Joyce Thought Soul Form Forms Tranquil

You suspect, Stephen retorted with a sort of a half laugh, that I may be important because I belong to the fauborgh Saint Patrice called Ireland for short. - I would go a step farther, Mr Bloom insinuated. - But I suspect, Stephen interrupted, that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me. By James Joyce Saint Patrice Stephen Ireland Laugh

Yet too much happy bores. He stretched more, more. Are you not happy in your? Twang. It snapped. By James Joyce Bores Happy Twang Stretched Snapped

My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions. By James Joyce Decayed Ambitions Mouth Full Teeth

Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, By James Joyce Dedalus Stephen Displeased Sleepy Leaned

Wipe your glasses with what you know. By James Joyce Wipe Glasses

Thought is the thought of thought. By James Joyce Thought

Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told you everytelling has a taling and that's the he and the she of it. By James Joyce Kennet Told Everytelling Taling

Yes, it was her he was looking at, and there was meaning in his look. His eyes burned into her as though they would search her through and through, read her very soul. By James Joyce Meaning Read Soul Eyes Burned

His cheekbones also gave his face a harsh character; but there was no harshness in the eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others but often disappointed. By James Joyce Gave Character Eyebrows Disappointed Cheekbones

Dust webbed the window and the showtrays. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones. By James Joyce Dust Showtrays Webbed Window Nails

I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom. By James Joyce Left Book Room Gloom Heard

Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you're going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday morm and, O, you're vine! Sendday's eve and, ah you're vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you're going to be fined again! By James Joyce Finn Finnagain Hohohoho Mister Funn

To speak of these things and to try to understand their nature and, having understood it, to try slowly and humbly and constantly to express, to press out again, from the gross earth or what it brings forth, from sound and shape and colour which are the prison gates of our soul, an image of the beauty we have come to understand - that is art. By James Joyce Understand Express Soul Art Speak

The Irish are people who will never have leaders, for at the great moment they always desert them. They have produced one skeletonParnellnever a man. By James Joyce Irish Leaders People Great Moment

For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me. By James Joyce Faults Ending Passing Bitter Slip

It seems to me you do not care what banality a man expresses so long as he expresses it in Irish. By James Joyce Irish Expresses Care Banality Man

Beingless beings. Stop! Throb always without you and the throb always within. Your heart you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher, were the words. I say! Not yet awhile. A look around. By James Joyce Beingless Throb Stop Shatter Swirl

Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character. By James Joyce Drugs Excitement Age Mental Reaction

But I am curious to know are you trying to make a convert of me or a pervert of yourself? By James Joyce Curious Make Convert Pervert

First, in the history of words there is much that indicates the history of men, and in comparing the speech of to-day with that ofyears ago, we have a useful illustration of the effect of external influences on the very words of a race. By James Joyce History Words Men Ago Race

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide. By James Joyce Woodshadows Gazed Floated Silently Morning

I resent violence or intolerance in any shape or form. It never reaches anything or stops anything. A revolution must come on the due installments plans. It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak a different vernacular, so to speak. By James Joyce Form Resent Violence Intolerance Shape

I shall write a book some day about the appropriateness of names. Geoffrey Chaucer has a ribald ring, as is proper and correct, and Alexander Pope was inevitably Alexander Pope. Colley Cibber was a silly little man without much elegance and Shelley was very Percy and very Bysshe. By James Joyce Alexander Pope Write Book Day

I am caught in this burning scene. Pan's hour, the faunal noon. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Pain is far. By James Joyce Scene Caught Burning Pan Hour

You cannot eat your cake and have it. By James Joyce Eat Cake

The barometer of his emotional nature was set for a spell of riot. By James Joyce Riot Barometer Emotional Nature Set

Then, in that case, all the rest, all that I thought I thought and all that I felt I felt, all the rest before me now, in fact ... O, give it up old chap! Sleep it off! By James Joyce Rest Thought Felt Case Fact

We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways. By James Joyce Born Die

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not. By James Joyce Unsure Stinking Dunghill World Mother

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it. By James Joyce Bury Dead Friday Robinson Crusoe

A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes. By James Joyce Brow Fanning Eyes Light Wind

And yet and yet! That strained look on her face! A gnawing sorrow is there all the time. Her very soul is in her eyes and she would give worlds to be in the privacy of her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she could have a good cry and relieve her pentup feelings. Though not too much because she knew how to cry nicely before the mirror. You are lovely, Gerty, it said. By James Joyce Cry Gerty Face Strained Time

Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she? By James Joyce Souls Shamewounded Sins Cling Clinging

The great fact emerges that after that historic date all holographs so far exhumed initialled by Haromphrey bear the sigla H.C.E. and while he was only and long and always good Dook Umphrey for the hungerlean splapeens of Lucalizod and Chimbers to his cronies it was equally certainly a pleasant turn of the populace which gave him as sense of those normative letters the nickname Here Comes Everybody By James Joyce Haromphrey Dook Umphrey Lucalizod Chimbers

The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words HOME, CHRIST, ALE, MASTER, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language. By James Joyce Mine Christ Ale Master Language

To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life. By James Joyce Life Live Err Fall Triumph

Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves. By James Joyce Day Men Life Ghosts Giants

I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. By James Joyce Nora Fart Women Pick Roomful

He comes into the world God knows how, walks on the water, gets out of his grave and goes up off the Hill of Howth. What drivel is this? By James Joyce Howth God Hill Walks Water

Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue milk's upset. By James Joyce Love Wait Lune Die Eve

You could get a book then. There was a book in the library about Holland. There were lovely foreign names in it and pictures of strangelooking cities and ships. It made you feel so happy. By James Joyce Book Holland Ships Library Happy

Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand. I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. What is that word known to all men? I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me. By James Joyce Touch Soft Eyes Hand Men

If Socrates leaves his house today he will find the sage seated on his doorstep. If Judas go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will tend.' Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law. But always meeting ourselves. By James Joyce Socrates Judas Doorstep Leaves House

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination By James Joyce Pen Ink Table Room Time

However, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in the bud of premature decay and nobody to blame but themselves. By James Joyce Brought Mind Instances Cultured Fellows

Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love;Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough.Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and howIn the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now. By James Joyce Love Lay Sad Sing Sleep

I read in that Voyages in China that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. By James Joyce Voyages China Chinese Corpse Read

His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why not endless till the farthest star? Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in violet nigh walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. I throw this ended shadow from me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Endless, would it be mine, form of my form? Who watches me here? Who ever anywhere will read these written words? By James Joyce Ending Bent Lay Rocks Cassiopeia

Jesus was a bachelor and never lived with a woman. Surely living with a woman is one of the most difficult things a man has to do, and he never did it. By James Joyce Jesus Woman Bachelor Lived Surely

Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed ... By James Joyce Oftwhile Balbulous Mithre Ahead Fondseed

Wery weeny wight, plead for Morandmor! Notre Dame de la Ville, mercy of thy balmheartzyheat! By James Joyce Morandmor Wery Wight Plead Ville

I should tell you that honestly, on my honour of a Nearwicked, I always think in a wordworth's of that primed favourite continental poet, Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper, A.G., whom the generality admoyers in this that is and that this is to come. By James Joyce Daunty Nearwicked Gouty Shopkeeper Honestly

The light music of whiskey falling into a glass - an agreeable interlude. By James Joyce Glass Interlude Light Music Whiskey

If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European. By James Joyce European Ireland

Oh Ireland my first and only loveWhere Christ and Caesar are hand in glove! By James Joyce Ireland Christ Caesar Glove Lovewhere

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. By James Joyce Stately Buck Mulligan Plump Stairhead

The peace of the gardens and the kindly lights in the windows poured a tender influence into his restless heart. By James Joyce Heart Peace Gardens Kindly Lights

I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you? By James Joyce Happier Back Time Hand Bring

Efferfreshpainted livy, in beautific repose, upon the silence of the dead, from pharoph the nextfirst down to ramescheckles the last bust thing. The Vico road goes round and round to meet where terms begin. By James Joyce Efferfreshpainted Livy Repose Dead Thing

The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high. - Mkgnao! - O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire. The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my head. Prr. By James Joyce Mkgnao High Prr Round Leg

We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch. By James Joyce Scratch Amore Babes Awondering Wold

A new generation is growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a sceptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought-tormented age: and sometimes I fear that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which belonged to an older day. By James Joyce Ideas Generation Midst Principles Growing

There was cold sunlight outside the window. By James Joyce Window Cold Sunlight

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery. By James Joyce Mistakes Man Genius Makes Discovery

Damn it, I can understand a fellow being hard up but what I can't understand is a fellow sponging. Couldn't he have some spark of manhood about him? By James Joyce Fellow Damn Sponging Understand Hard

Look at the woebegone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poached eyes on ghost. By James Joyce Woebegone Walk Eaten Egg Poached

If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist. As it is, I am content torecognize myself an exile: and, prophetically, a repudiated one. By James Joyce Irish Nationalist Programme Insist Language

The apprehensive faculty must be scrutinised in action. By James Joyce Action Apprehensive Faculty Scrutinised

Our civilization, bequeathed to us by fierce adventurers, eaters of meat and hunters, is so full of hurry and combat, so busy about many things which perhaps are of no importance, that it cannot but see something feeble in a civilization which smiles as it refuses to make the battlefield the test of excellence. By James Joyce Civilization Bequeathed Adventurers Eaters Hunters

He waited for some moments, listening, before he too took up the air with them. He was listening with pain of spirit to the overtone of weariness behind their frail fresh innocent voices. Even before they set out on life's journey they seemed weary already of the way. By James Joyce Moments Listening Waited Air Voices

If he had smiled why would he have smiled? To reflect that each one who enters imagines himself to be the first to enter whereas he is always the last term of a preceding series even if the first term of a succeeding one, each imagining himself to be first, last, only and alone whereas he is neither first nor last nor only nor alone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity. By James Joyce Smiled Term Series Reflect Imagines

His monstrous dreams, peopled by ape-like creatures and by harlots with gleaming jewel eyes.. By James Joyce Dreams Peopled Eyes Monstrous Apelike

Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas. By James Joyce Ideas Jackass Roads

He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy. By James Joyce Wellington Jollypoldy Passes Struck Doldy

Write it, damn you, write it! What else are you good for? By James Joyce Write Damn Good

We are an unfortunate priest-ridden race and always were and always will be tell the end of the chapter ... A priest-ridden Godforsaken race. By James Joyce Chapter Priestridden Race Unfortunate End

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus. By James Joyce People Flowers Cactus Trample Embrace

The end he had been born to serve yet did not see had led him to escape by an unseen path and now it beckoned to him once more and a new adventure was about to be opened to him. By James Joyce End Born Serve Led Escape

Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghost-woman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. By James Joyce Wombed Made Begotten Sin Darkness

The modern mind ... is interested above all in subtleties, equivocations and the subterranean complexities which dominate the average man and compose his life ... modern literature is concerned with the twilight, the passive rather than the active mind ... those undercurrents which flow beneath the apparently firm surface.(Joyce to Arthur Power) By James Joyce Mind Subtleties Equivocations Life Modern

Does nobody understand? By James Joyce Understand

Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes. By James Joyce Blazure Sparkling Eyes Bronze Azure

If anyone thinks that I amn't divineHe'll get no free drinks when I'm making the wineBut have to drink water and wish it were plainThat I make when the wine becomes water again. By James Joyce Water Divinehe Free Making Winebut

Sitting in the study hall he opened the lid of his desk and changed the number pasted up inside from seventy-seven to seventy-six. But the Christmas vacation was very far away: but one time it would come because the earth moved round always.-Stephen Dedalus- By James Joyce Sitting Seventysix Study Hall Opened

Pride and hope and desire like crushed herbs in his heart sent up vapours of maddening incense before the eyes of his mind. By James Joyce Pride Mind Hope Desire Crushed

He said it was sweeter and thicker than cows then he wanted to milk me into the tea ... By James Joyce Tea Sweeter Thicker Cows Wanted

You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame. By James Joyce Framed Tinsel Set Couch Bore

The slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. By James Joyce Thoughts Stars Slow Growth Change

The hour when he too would take part in the life of that world seemed drawing near and in secret he began to make ready for the great part which he felt awaited him the nature of which he only dimly apprehended. By James Joyce Part Apprehended Hour Life World

When I die, Dublin will be written on my heart. By James Joyce Dublin Die Heart Written

I think a child should be allowed to take his father's or mother's name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction. By James Joyce Age Child Allowed Father Mother

And the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marryvoising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history ... By James Joyce Body History Till Alshemist Wrote

God! ... Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look. By James Joyce God Sea Thalatta Mother Sweet

Hump for humbleness, dump for dirts. By James Joyce Hump Humbleness Dump Dirts

Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor. By James Joyce Touched Preasure Darker Sin Softer

A nation is the same people living in the same place. By James Joyce Place Nation People Living

The State is concentric, but the individual is eccentric. By James Joyce State Concentric Eccentric Individual

And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind and O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O!O! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lively! O so soft, sweet, soft! By James Joyce Rocket Sprang Bang Shot Blind

A way a lone a last a loved a long the - By James Joyce Lone Loved Long

The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed. By James Joyce Weed Mouth Engaged Cylinder Rank

When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water. By James Joyce Makes Grogan Tea Mother Water

He is cured by faith who is sick of fate. By James Joyce Fate Cured Faith Sick

You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls, do you not think? By James Joyce Dark Find Words Darkness Souls

Therefore, everyman, look to that last end that is thy death and the dust that gripeth on every man that is born of woman for as he came naked forth from his mother's womb so naked shall he wend him at the last for to go as he came. By James Joyce Everyman Naked End Thy Death

He went up to his room after dinner in order to be alone with his soul: and at every step his soul seemed to sigh: at every step his soul mounted with his feet, sighing in the ascent, through a region of viscid gloom. By James Joyce Soul Step Sigh Feet Sighing

Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance. By James Joyce Shakespeare Balance Happy Hunting Ground