Quote

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.

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
Days
Brothers
Young
Meeting
Many
Ghost
Every
Meetings
Robbers
Always
Brother
Widows
Men
Walk
Ghosts
Love
Walks
Wives
Life
Wife
Giants

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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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Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another s soul.
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Human society is the embodiment of changeless laws which the whimsicalities and circumstances of men and women involve and overwrap. The realm of literature is the realm of these accidental manners and humours--a spacious realm and the true literary artist concerns himself mainly with them.
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A woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out.
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Each lost soul will be a hell unto itself, the boundless fire raging in its very vitals.
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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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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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Interpretations of interpretations interpreted.
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British Beatitudes! ... Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops.
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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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Beware the horns of a bull, the heels of the horse, and the smile of an Englishman.
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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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The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.
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I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.
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You cannot eat your cake and have it.
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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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