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

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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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I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house? MTo seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer.
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Beauty, the splendour of truth, is a gracious presence when the imagination contemplates intensely the truth of its own being or the visible world, and the spirit which proceeds out of truth and beauty is the holy spirit of joy. These are realities and these alone give and sustain life.
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O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me youve no chances at all inthis place like you used long ago I wish somebody would write me a loveletter.
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Though people may read more into Ulysses than I ever intended, who is to say that they are wrong: do any of us know what we are creating?Which of us can control our scribblings? They are the script of one's personality like your voice or your walk
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All things are inconstant except the faith in the soul, which changes all things and fills their inconstancy with light.
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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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White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.
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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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It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
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Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.
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And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?
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The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.
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Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
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The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.
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Shut your eyes and see.
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You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
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Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of emotion.
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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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And the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marryvoising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history.
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