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In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!

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
Rill
Bringer
Uneven
Sung
Name
Names
Running

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Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.
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I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.
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He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.
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Absence, the highest form of presence.
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What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupifies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it only swallow it down.
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Love me. Love my umbrella.
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Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
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The studious silence of the library ... Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness.
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and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
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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
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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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There's many a true word spoken in jest.
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We were always loyal to lost causes...Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination. ~ Professor MacHugh
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Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.
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White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.
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Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.
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By an epiphany he meant a sudden spiritual manifestation, whether in the vulgarity of speech or of gesture or memorable phrase of the mind itself. He believed it was for the man of letters to record these epiphanies with extreme care (saving them for later use, that is), seeing that they themselves are the most delicate and evanescent of moments.
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[Robinson Crusoe] is the true prototype of the British colonist. The whole Anglo-Saxon spirit is in Crusoe: the manly independence, the unconscious cruelty, the persistence, the slow yet efficient intelligence, the sexual apathy, the calculating taciturnity.
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The apprehensive faculty must be scrutinised in action.
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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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