Quotes from James Joyce

Dress the pussy for her nighty and follow her piggytails up their way to Winkyland.

Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else. That's what life is after all.

Haines sat down to pour out the tea. —I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you do make strong tea, don't you? Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman's wheedling voice: —When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.

Suck it yourself, sugarstick!

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

God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbed mountain.

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.

Let people get fond of each other: lure them on. Then tear asunder.

The trees do not resent autumn nor does any exemplary thing in nature resent its limitations.

One feels that one is listening to thought-tormented music

His soul had loved to muse in secret on this desire. He had seen himself, a young and silent-mannered priest, entering a confessional swiftly, ascending the altarsteps, incensing, genuflecting, accomplishing the vague acts of the priesthood which pleased him by reason of their semblance of reality and of their distance from it.

His blood began to murmur in his veins, murmuring like a sinful city summoned from its sleep to hear its doom.

Havvah-ban-Annah

Kyrie ! The radiance of the intellect. I ought to profess Greek, the language of the mind.

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.

Sua alma desmaiava lentamente, enquanto ele ouvia a neve cair suave através do universo, cair brandamente, como se lhes descesse a hora final, sobre todos os vivos e todos os mortos.

peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth

His heart trembled; his breath came faster and a wild spirit passed over his limbs as though he was soaring sunward. His heart trembled in an ecstasy of fear and his soul was in flight. His soul was soaring in an air beyond the world and the body he knew was purified in a breath and delivered of incertitude and made radiant and commingled with the element of the spirit. An ecstasy of flight made radiant his eyes and wild his breath and tremulous and wild and radiant his windswept limbs.

When she had gone he said, laughing: —We call it D. B. C. because they have damn bad cakes. O, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. Haines opened his newbought book. —I'm sorry, he said. Shakespeare is the happy huntingground. of all minds that have lost their balance.

He watched the scene and thought of life; and (as always happened when he thought of life) he became sad.

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.

her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that, supply soft and

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.

Like distant music these words that he had written years before were borne towards him from the past.