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His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

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
Fall
Snow
Ends
Dead
Soul
Heard
Life
Lasts
Swooned
Like
Last
Faintly
Upon
Descent
Universe
Slowly
Living
Falling

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Let my country die for me.
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I want to give a picture of Dublin so complete that if the city suddenly disappeared from the earth it could be reconstructed out of my book.
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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!
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Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.
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For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal.
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The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
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In the particular is contained the universal.
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As you are now so once were we.
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Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatesoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer.
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Redheaded women buck like goats.
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What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent?
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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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Life is the great teacher.
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...rapid motion through space elates one.
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The apprehensive faculty must be scrutinised in action.
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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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Every age must look for its sanction to its poetry and philosophy, for in these the human mind, as it looks backward or forward, attains to an eternal state.
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Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?
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All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.
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When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.
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