Quotes from James Joyce

L'esthétique et les cosmétiques sont pour le boudoir. Je suis pour la vérité. La simple vérité pour un homme simple.

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.

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. He saw her urge her vanities, her fine dress and sash and long black stockings, and knew that he had yielded to them a thousand times. Yet a voice within him spoke above the noise of his dancing heart, asking him would he take her gift to which he had only to stretch out his hand.

Let there be fight? And there was.

But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass?

Going to 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.

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.

shuttered for the repose of Sunday

Stephen looked coldly on the oblong skull beneath him overgrown with tangled twine-coloured hair.

Do you feel how profound that is because you are a poet?

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.

He had to undress and then kneel and say his own prayers before the gas was lowered so that he might not go to hell when he died.

And all their remains. And not all the king's men nor his horses Will resurrect his corpus For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell (bis) That's able to raise a Cain.

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.

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.

Pincushions. I'm a long time threatening to buy one. Sticking them all over the place. Needles in window curtains.

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.

He was destined to learn his own wisdom apart from others or to learn the wisdom of others himself wandering among the snares of the world.

It made me sad to see your eyes. I cannot say why.

He laughed to free his mind from his mind's bondage.

Was it right to kiss his mother or wrong to kiss his mother? 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?

Make me feel good in the moontime.

The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustn't lilt here.

This is the way to the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out.