“ Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. James Joyce
“ To say that a great genius is mad, while at the same time recognizing his artistic merit, is no better than to say he is rheumatic or diabetic. James Joyce
“ Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, is honored by posterity because he was the last to discover America. James Joyce
“ My sweet naughty girl I got your hot letter tonight and have been trying to picture you frigging your cunt in the closet. How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up und… James Joyce
“ Jesus was a bachelor and never lived with a woman. Surely living with a woman is one of the most difficult things a man has to do, and he never did it. James Joyce
“ Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most… James Joyce
“ I think a child should be allowed to take his father's or mother's name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction. James Joyce
“ The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question. James Joyce
“ Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. James Joyce
“ I smiled at him. America, I said quietly, just like that. What is it? The sweepings of every country including our own. Isn't that true? That's a fact. James Joyce
“ My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I… James Joyce
“ Her room was warm and lightsome. A huge doll sat with her legs apart in the copious easy-chair beside the bed. He tried to bid his tongue speak that he might seem at ease, watching her as she undid he… James Joyce
“ Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. James Joyce
