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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.

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
Past
Castles
Back
Bend
Long
Adam
Way
Shore
Brings
Environs
Loved
Swerve
Lasts
Castle
Last
Lone

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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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Too excited to be genuinely happy
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Beware the horns of a bull, the heels of the horse, and the smile of an Englishman.
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Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.
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He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.
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What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones that passed it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.
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History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
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I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppled masonry, and time one livid final flame.
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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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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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Frequent and violent temptations were a proof that the citadel of the soul had not fallen and that the devil raged to make it fall.
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All human history moves towards one great goal
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Jesus was a bachelor and never lived with a woman. Surely living with a woman is one of the most difficult things a man has to do, and he never did it.
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One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot.
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When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.
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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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The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
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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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