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His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.
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
Heart
Movement
Cork
Life
Knew
Danced
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Heard
Tide
Eyes
Tides
Whether
Tale
Upon
Movements
Eye
Beneath
Past
Tales
More quotes by James Joyce
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
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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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I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses
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Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.
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Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.
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Wipe your glosses with what you know.
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And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?
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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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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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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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All things are inconstant except the faith in the soul, which changes all things and fills their inconstancy with light.
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Love me. Love my umbrella.
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Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
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I am proud to be an emotionalist.
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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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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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Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.
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All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.
James Joyce
There was no doubt about it: if you wanted to succeed you had to go away. You could do nothing in Dublin.
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Love, yes. Word known to all men.
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