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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

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
Description
Content
Quite
Seems
Paste
Men
Scissors
Posterity
Harsh
Unjust

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White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.
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Our civilization, bequeathed to us by fierce adventurers, eaters of meat and hunters, is so full of hurry and combat, so busy about many things which perhaps are of no importance, that it cannot but see something feeble in a civilization which smiles as it refuses to make the battlefield the test of excellence.
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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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Absence, the highest form of presence.
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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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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 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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If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist. As it is, I am content torecognize myself an exile: and, prophetically, a repudiated one.
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No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying: — That is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy asked. — A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.
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There's no police like Holmes.
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Too excited to be genuinely happy
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Deal with him, Hemingway!
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Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
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The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
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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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Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.
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Let my country die for me.
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Fall if you will, but rise you must.
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