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Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
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
Water
Hands
Back
Time
Like
Holding
Bring
Hand
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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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You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
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I'll tickle his catastrophe.
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Absence, the highest form of presence.
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Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of emotion.
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Does nobody understand?
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and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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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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Interpretations of interpretations interpreted.
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You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
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The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue.
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The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.
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And the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation one continuous present tense integument slowly unfolded all marryvoising moodmoulded cyclewheeling history.
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...rapid motion through space elates one.
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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.
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The apprehensive faculty must be scrutinised in action.
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Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.
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We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.
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