James Joyce Quotes

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The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid, and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of ex...

By James Joyce
The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime.

By James Joyce
The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was fallin...

By James Joyce
O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea and the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda g...

By James Joyce
Not the least vital of the problems which confront our country is the problem of her attitude towards those of her children who, having left h...

By James Joyce
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 to recognize m...

By James Joyce
—He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously. He's not one of your common or garden ... you know ... There's a touch of the art...

By James Joyce
I am not likely to die of bashfulness but neither am I prepared to be crucified to attest the perfection of my art. I dislike to hear of any s...

By James Joyce
—I am the resurrection and the life. That touches a man's inmost heart. —It does, Mr Bloom said....

By James Joyce
He winged away on a wildgoup's chase across the kathartic ocean and made synthetic ink and sensitive paper for his own end out of his wit's wa...

By James Joyce
—Dead! says Alf. He's no more dead than you are. —Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.

By James Joyce
By an epiphany he meant a sudden spiritual manifestation, whether in the vulgarity of speech or of gesture or in a memorable phase of the mind...

By James Joyce
Amen. So be it. 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 ...

By James Joyce
And the first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch of the only foolscap available, his own body, till by its corrosive sublimation...

By James Joyce
A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

By James Joyce
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.

By James Joyce
There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.

By James Joyce
A tide began to surge beneath the calm surface of Stephen's friendliness. This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am. Try to be one of us, repeated Davin. In your heart you are an Irishman but your pride is too powerful. My ancestors threw off their language and took another, Stephen said. They allowed a handful of foreigners to subject them. Do you fancy that I am going to pay in my own life and person debts they made? What for? For our freedom, said Davin. No honourable and sincere man, said Stephen, has given up to you his life and his youth and his affections from the days of Wolfe Tone to those of Parnell, but you sold him to the enemy or failed him in need or reviled him and left him for another. And you invite me to be one of you. I'd see you damned first. They died for their ideals, Stevie, said Davin. Our day will come yet, believe me. Stephen, following his own thought, was silent for an instant... When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets ... Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.

By James Joyce
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world, a mother's love is not.

By James Joyce
An Irishman needs three things : silence, cunnning, and exile.

By James Joyce
History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.

By James Joyce
You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.

By James Joyce
Saying that a great genius is mad, while at the same time recognizing his artistic worth, is like saying that he had rheumatism or suffered from diabetes. Madness, in fact, is a medical term that can claim no more notice from the objective critic than he grants the charge of heresy raised by the theologian, or the charge of immorality raised by the police.

By James Joyce
Mother is putting my new secondhand clothes in order. She prays now, she says, that I may learn in my own life and away from home and friends what the heart is and what it feels. Amen. So be it. 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.

By James Joyce
When the Irishman is found outside of Ireland in another environment, he very often becomes a respected man. The economic and intellectual conditions that prevail in his own country do not permit the development of individuality. 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.

By James Joyce
Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet.

By James Joyce
While you have a thing it can be taken from you... but when you give it, you have given it. No robber can take it from you. It is yours then for ever when you have given it. It will be yours always. That is to give.

By James Joyce
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.

By James Joyce
Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.

By James Joyce
No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.

By James Joyce