What is better than to sit at the end of the day and drink wine with friends, or substitutes for friends?
James JoyceShe respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed: and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.
James JoyceTags: men women respect post-office
It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant.
James JoyceWhat is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Incomplete.
James JoyceYou 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.
James JoyceMichael Robartes remembers forgotten beauty and, when his arms wrap her round, he presses in his arms the loveliness which has long faded from the world. Not this. Not at all. I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.
James JoyceAway! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone. Come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth... Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.
James JoyceOh rocks!' says Molly Bloom, drumming her fingers in impatience. 'Tell us in plain words.
James JoyceThere is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.
James JoyceTags: heresy
Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then. Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character.
James JoyceTags: drugs
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