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I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house? MTo seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer.
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
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Writer
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
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Slightest
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Misfortune
Father
Exile
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Seek
Stephen
More quotes by James Joyce
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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He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life
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Deal with him, Hemingway!
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History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
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Never let us do wrong, because our opponents did so. Let us, rather, by doing right, show them what they ought to have done, and establish a rule the dictates of reason and conscience, rather than of the angry passions.
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Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
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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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I care not if I live but a day and a night, so long as my deeds live after me.
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Human society is the embodiment of changeless laws which the whimsicalities and circumstances of men and women involve and overwrap. The realm of literature is the realm of these accidental manners and humours--a spacious realm and the true literary artist concerns himself mainly with them.
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Interpretations of interpretations interpreted.
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What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones that passed it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.
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He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself: A day of dappled seaborne clouds.
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I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.
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What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?
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This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.
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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!
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If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist. As it is, I am content torecognize myself an exile: and, prophetically, a repudiated one.
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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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