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Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.
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
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More quotes by James Joyce
Shut your eyes and see.
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Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?
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He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.
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Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.
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As you are now so once were we.
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For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal.
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Thanks be to God we lived so long and did so much good.
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All human history moves towards one great goal
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A woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out.
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This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.
James Joyce
Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined.
James Joyce
All things are inconstant except the faith in the soul, which changes all things and fills their inconstancy with light.
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Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
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Redheaded women buck like goats.
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Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.
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Wipe your glosses with what you know.
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Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.
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Love between man and man is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.
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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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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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