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The incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius.

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
Incompatibility
Erratic
Originality
Genius

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You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
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No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove.
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Though people may read more into Ulysses than I ever intended, who is to say that they are wrong: do any of us know what we are creating?Which of us can control our scribblings? They are the script of one's personality like your voice or your walk
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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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The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.
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I shall write a book some day about the appropriateness of names. Geoffrey Chaucer has a ribald ring, as is proper and correct, and Alexander Pope was inevitably Alexander Pope. Colley Cibber was a silly little man without much elegance and Shelley was very Percy and very Bysshe.
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Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.
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If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.
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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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What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupifies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it only swallow it down.
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Let my country die for me.
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History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
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Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
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The apprehensive faculty must be scrutinised in action.
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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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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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To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.
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All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.
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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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You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.
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