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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.
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
Good
Dying
Seem
Hospice
Idea
Corpus
Seems
Chew
Body
Corpse
Ideas
Swallow
Firsts
Corpses
First
Latin
More quotes by James Joyce
You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.
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He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.
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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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British Beatitudes! ... Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops.
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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.
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People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.
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If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.
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You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
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O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.
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It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
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White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!
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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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and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
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And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.
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When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once.
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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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I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.
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Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.
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You cannot eat your cake and have it.
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Love me. Love my umbrella.
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