His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
What is better than to sit at the end of the day and drink wine with friends, or substitutes for friends? — James Joyce Copy Share Image
Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
The romantic temper, so often and so grievously misinterpreted and not more by others than by its own, is an insecure, unsatisfied,… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
We are an unfortunate priest-ridden race and always were and always will be tell the end of the chapter.... A priest-ridden Godforsaken… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
The end he had been born to serve yet did not see had led him to escape by an unseen path and… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
In this life our sorrows are either not very long or not very great because nature either overcomes them by habits or… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
He found in the world without as actual what was in his world within as possible. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
Our civilization, bequeathed to us by fierce adventurers, eaters of meat and hunters, is so full of hurry and combat, so busy about many… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
Shaw's works make me admire the magnificent tolerance and broadmindedness of the english. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“Do you know what Ireland is?' asked Stephen with cold violence. 'Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.” — James Joyce Copy Share Image
The studious silence of the library ... Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“two cronies drank to the memory of their past. An abyss of fortune or of temperament sundered him from them. His mind seemed older… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppled masonry, and time one livid final flame. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
