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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
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Teacher
Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Live
Life
Recreate
Triumph
Fall
More quotes by James Joyce
Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.
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Does nobody understand?
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No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.
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Thought is the thought of thought.
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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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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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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I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me.
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The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
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I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house? MTo seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer.
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Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are... Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.
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Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.
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Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
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To discover the mode of life or of art whereby my spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.
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Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.
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No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
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He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.
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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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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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and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
James Joyce