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Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.

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
Soul
Forge
Time
Encounter
Life
Encounters
Welcome
Conscience
Race
Experience
Millionth
Reality
Uncreated

More quotes by James Joyce

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And Jesus was a Jew too. Your god. He was a Jew like me. And so was his father.
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I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses
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Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: ----Introibo ad altare Dei.
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?
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You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.
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Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.
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There's no police like Holmes.
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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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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
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Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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We were always loyal to lost causes...Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. ~ Professor MacHugh
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Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.
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When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once.
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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.
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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 desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.
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Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are... Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.
James Joyce
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In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation.
James Joyce