“He was sitting in the midst of a children's party at Harold's Cross. His silent watchful manner had grown upon him and… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
The philosophic mind inclines always to an elaborate life--the life of Goethe or of Leonardo da Vinci; but the life of the… — 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 light music of whiskey falling into a glass - an agreeable interlude. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.” — James Joyce Copy Share Image
He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“There's music along the river For Love wanders there, Pale flowers on his mantle, Dark leaves on his hair.” — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“The music passed in an instant, as the first bars of sudden music always did, over the fantastic fabrics of his mind,… — James Joyce Copy Share Image
“Numbers it is. All music when you come to think. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords… — 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
