Quotes from James Joyce

Auto rotation is practiced over and over when learning to fly helicopters. It is the prime life-saving maneuver, and it is an enormous amount of fun to do. To accomplish a perfect auto rotation, landing like a feather and right on the mark, is another pure joy of flying. So if you lose your only engine while flying, hope you are in a helicopter rather than an airplane. Your odds of a safe landing are infinitely greater.

He was not convinced of the truth of the saying [] "The poet is born, not made" but he was quite sure of the truth of this at least: [] "The poem is made not born.

Rain has fallen all the day O come among the laden trees. The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart.

And he has pipettishly bespilled himself from his foundingpen as illspent from inkinghorn.

There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what that means.

There is an art, Mr Daedalus, in lighting a fire. —So I see, sir. A very useful art. —That's it: a useful art. We have the useful arts and we have the liberal arts.

Beware of what you wish for in youth because you will get it in middle life.

their jaws grow large, and their lips grow coarse, like the poor Paddies who eat potatoes.

What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire? Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level:

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.

Flying a helicopter is like flying a magic carpet. It's the most fun in all aviation.

The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What beautiful is is another question

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The eyes that mock me sign the way Whereto I pass at eve of day. Grey way whose violet signals are The trysting and the twining star. Ah star of evil! star of pain! Highhearted youth comes not again Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know The signs that mock me as I go.

As you sing it it's a study. That letter selfpenned to one's other, that neverperfect everplanned?

In a word, in adversity she was the best of comforters, in good fortune the most troublesome of friends, having a perfectly good opinion of herself always and an indomitable resolution to have her own way.

he began to taste the joy of his loneliness.

Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'll have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.

In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: 'Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?

It is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time.

They lived and laughed and loved and left." ?James Joyce

He had not died but had faded out like a film in the Sun. He had been lost or had wandered out of existence for he no longer existed.

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A vague dissatisfaction grew up within him as he looked on the quays and on the river and on the lowering skies and yet he continued to wander up and down day after day as if he really sought someone that eluded him