James Joyce Quotes
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The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit. (683)
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A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.
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How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling,Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling,
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Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.
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Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
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(Stoop) if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop), in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the same told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle.
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Seraphim,The lost hosts awaken
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Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.
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In the name of the former and of the latter and of their holocaust. Allmen. (419.9-10)
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But all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life's robulous rebus (12.32-33)
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When I die Dublin will be written in my heart.
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Boor, bond of thy herd,Tonight stretch full by the fire!
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You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
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Vast wings above the lambent waters broodOf sullen day.
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All things are inconstant except the faith in the soul, which changes all things and fills their inconstancy with light, but though I seem to be driven out of my country as a misbeliever I have found no man yet with a faith like mine.
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The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
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I fear those big words which make us so unhappy.
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My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?
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Can you nei do her, numb? asks Dolph, suspecting the answer know. Oikkont, ken you, ninny? asks Kev, expecting the answer guess. (286.25-27)
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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?
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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.
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It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
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Ireland sober is Ireland stiff.
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He found in the world without as actual what was in his world within as possible.