Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eons of the gods. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“The phrase and the day and the scene harmonized in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What beautiful is is another question” — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pahrce for the nunce come to a… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Thoth, god of libraries, a birdgod, moonycrowned. And I heard the… — 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
