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[A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.

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
Bread
Daily
Eternal
Writer
Imagination
Transmuting
Experience
Radiant
Body
Priest
Life
Priests

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I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.
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A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
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He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself: A day of dappled seaborne clouds.
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To discover the mode of life or of art whereby my spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.
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He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.
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Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
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Never let us do wrong, because our opponents did so. Let us, rather, by doing right, show them what they ought to have done, and establish a rule the dictates of reason and conscience, rather than of the angry passions.
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I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear.
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I think a child should be allowed to take his father's or mother's name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction.
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.
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As you are now so once were we.
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Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
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The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.
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He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.
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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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