James Joyce Quotes
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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.
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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.
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Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
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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.
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The actions of men are the best interpreters of their thoughts.
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I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
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I laugh at it today, now that I have had all the good of it. Let the bridge blow up, provided I have got my troops across... Nonetheless, that book was a terrible risk. A transparent leaf separates it from madness.
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The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of you.
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Your lean jaws grin with. LashYour itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
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Mistakes are the portals of discovery.
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Around us fear, descendingDarkness of fear above
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My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.
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Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told you every telling has a taling and that's the he and the she of it. Look, look, the dusk is growing!
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There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.
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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.
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In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!
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He was not sure what idea he wished to express but the thought that a poetic moment had touched upon him took life within him like an infant hope. He stepped onward bravely.
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'Tis as human a little story as paper could well carry (115.36)
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Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.
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A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.
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We expect you are, honest Shaun, we agreed, but from franking machines, limricked, that in the end it may well turn out, we hear to be you, our belated, who will bear these open letter. Speak to us of Emailia. (410.20-23)
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Irresponsibility is part of the pleasure of all art; it is the part the schools cannot recognize.
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How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling,Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling,
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Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.