Quote

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.

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
Street
Jerked
Window
Thumb
Asked
Stephen
Streets
Shout
Saying
Thumbs
Answered
Shoulders
Shrugging
Towards
Hooray

More quotes by James Joyce

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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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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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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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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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Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
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Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of emotion.
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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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Shut your eyes and see.
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A dim antagonism gathered force within him and darkened his mind as a cloud against her disloyalty: and when it passed, cloudlike, leaving his mind serene and dutiful towards her again, he was made aware dimly and without regret of a first noiseless sundering of their lives.
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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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I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear.
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When I heard the word ''stream'' uttered with such a revolting primness, what I think of is urine and not the contemporary novel. And besides, it isn't new, it is far from the dernier cri. Shakespeare used it continually, much too much in my opinion, and there's Tristam Shandy, not to mention the Agamemnon.
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Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.
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Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
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Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
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Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.
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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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Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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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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