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When I die Dublin will be written on my heart.
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
Dublin
Written
Dies
Heart
More quotes by James Joyce
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.
James Joyce
What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupifies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it only swallow it down.
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Wipe your glosses with what you know.
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Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
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I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses
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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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History is that nightmare from which there is no awakening.
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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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My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to me the centre of paralysis.
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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There is not past, no future everything flows in an eternal present.
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An improper art aims at exciting in the way of comedy the feeling of desire but the feeling which is proper to comic art is the feeling of joy.
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And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.
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And Jesus was a Jew too. Your god. He was a Jew like me. And so was his father.
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People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.
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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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Frequent and violent temptations were a proof that the citadel of the soul had not fallen and that the devil raged to make it fall.
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You cannot eat your cake and have it.
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[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.
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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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