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And Jesus was a Jew too. Your god. He was a Jew like me. And so was his father.

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
Like
Jew
Atheism
Jesus
Father

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What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?
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They lived and laughed and loved and left.
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People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.
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Redheaded women buck like goats.
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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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Each lost soul will be a hell unto itself, the boundless fire raging in its very vitals.
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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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No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.
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There's many a true word spoken in jest.
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...rapid motion through space elates one.
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Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.
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White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!
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Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.
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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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All human history moves towards one great goal
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Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of emotion.
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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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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.
James Joyce
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Winds of May, that dance on the sea, Dancing a ring-around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overhead The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air, Saw you my true love anywhere? Welladay! Welladay! For the winds of May! Love is unhappy when love is away!
James Joyce