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You cannot eat your cake and have it.

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
Cake
Cannot

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The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue.
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The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.
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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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O, dread and dire word. Eternity! What mind of man can understand it?
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Sentimentality is unearned emotion.
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I think a child should be allowed to take his father's or mother's name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction.
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History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
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Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined.
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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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But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
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[Robinson Crusoe] is the true prototype of the British colonist. The whole Anglo-Saxon spirit is in Crusoe: the manly independence, the unconscious cruelty, the persistence, the slow yet efficient intelligence, the sexual apathy, the calculating taciturnity.
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Does nobody understand?
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Redheaded women buck like goats.
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Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.
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In the particular is contained the universal.
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and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
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For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.
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O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me youve no chances at all inthis place like you used long ago I wish somebody would write me a loveletter.
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Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatesoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer.
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White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!
James Joyce