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To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.
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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Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Recreate
Triumph
Fall
Live
Life
More quotes by James Joyce
I'll tickle his catastrophe.
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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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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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When a man is born...there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.
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By an epiphany he meant a sudden spiritual manifestation, whether in the vulgarity of speech or of gesture or memorable phrase of the mind itself. He believed it was for the man of letters to record these epiphanies with extreme care (saving them for later use, that is), seeing that they themselves are the most delicate and evanescent of moments.
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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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Fall if you will, but rise you must.
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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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White wine is like electricity. Red wine looks and tastes like a liquified beefsteak.
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Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.
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A nation is the same people living in the same place.
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I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses
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Beauty, the splendour of truth, is a gracious presence when the imagination contemplates intensely the truth of its own being or the visible world, and the spirit which proceeds out of truth and beauty is the holy spirit of joy. These are realities and these alone give and sustain life.
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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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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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All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.
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But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
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His eyes were dimmed with tears and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost.
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Deal with him, Hemingway!
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Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.
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