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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.
James Joyce
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James Joyce
Age: 58 †
Born: 1882
Born: February 2
Died: 1941
Died: January 13
Author
Father
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Teacher
Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Beyond
Refining
Behind
Fingernails
Existence
Refined
Within
Indifferent
Artist
Invisible
Art
Remains
Like
Behinds
Paring
Creation
Handiwork
More quotes by James Joyce
To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.
James Joyce
Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.
James Joyce
My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to me the centre of paralysis.
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Wipe your glosses with what you know.
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...rapid motion through space elates one.
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The incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius.
James Joyce
Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.
James Joyce
Love loves to love love.
James Joyce
We were always loyal to lost causes...Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. ~ Professor MacHugh
James Joyce
What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?
James Joyce
The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.
James Joyce
Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
James Joyce
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed: and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.
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The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue.
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For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal.
James Joyce
Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.
James Joyce
The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
James Joyce
Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.
James Joyce
O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.
James Joyce
I am quite content to go down to posterity as a scissors and paste man for that seems to me a harsh but not unjust description
James Joyce