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I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.
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
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Poet
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Teacher
Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Stride
Short
Space
Time
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I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me.
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When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flown at it to hold it back from flight.
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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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He comes into the world God knows how, walks on the water, gets out of his grave and goes up off the Hill of Howth. What drivel is this?
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Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined.
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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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Interpretations of interpretations interpreted.
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Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
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A man's errors are his portals of discovery.
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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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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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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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...rapid motion through space elates one.
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant.
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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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Does nobody understand?
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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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I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear.
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