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People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

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
Cactus
Trample
Flowers
Embrace
Flower
People

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O, dread and dire word. Eternity! What mind of man can understand it?
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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Jesus was a bachelor and never lived with a woman. Surely living with a woman is one of the most difficult things a man has to do, and he never did it.
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You cannot eat your cake and have it.
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She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed: and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.
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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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Beware the horns of a bull, the heels of the horse, and the smile of an Englishman.
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Our civilization, bequeathed to us by fierce adventurers, eaters of meat and hunters, is so full of hurry and combat, so busy about many things which perhaps are of no importance, that it cannot but see something feeble in a civilization which smiles as it refuses to make the battlefield the test of excellence.
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A man's errors are his portals of discovery.
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All human history moves towards one great goal
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Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.
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There's many a true word spoken in jest.
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Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.
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Thanks be to God we lived so long and did so much good.
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Love, yes. Word known to all men.
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Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
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Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: ----Introibo ad altare Dei.
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A woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out.
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To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.
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No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.
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