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Love, yes. Word known to all men.
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
Word
Known
Men
Love
More quotes by James Joyce
His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
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We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.
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A dim antagonism gathered force within him and darkened his mind as a cloud against her disloyalty: and when it passed, cloudlike, leaving his mind serene and dutiful towards her again, he was made aware dimly and without regret of a first noiseless sundering of their lives.
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No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
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Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of emotion.
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You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
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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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There's no police like Holmes.
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Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
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Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
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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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Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.
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O, dread and dire word. Eternity! What mind of man can understand it?
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Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
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She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.
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I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear.
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When I heard the word ''stream'' uttered with such a revolting primness, what I think of is urine and not the contemporary novel. And besides, it isn't new, it is far from the dernier cri. Shakespeare used it continually, much too much in my opinion, and there's Tristam Shandy, not to mention the Agamemnon.
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[A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.
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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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Deal with him, Hemingway!
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