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This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.
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
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Teacher
Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Produced
Express
Shall
Race
Country
Life
More quotes by James Joyce
I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
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His eyes were dimmed with tears and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost.
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Absence, the highest form of presence.
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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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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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Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.
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There's many a true word spoken in jest.
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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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Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.
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Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she?
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Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.
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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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The incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius.
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He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life
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She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.
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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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What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?
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I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.
James Joyce