Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor. – James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. (Penguin Classics;… Continue reading James Joyce
I am in my remembering. — Seán Ó Coileáin, from “The Ruins of Timoleague Abbey,” Poetry (vol. CCV, no. 2, November 2014)
I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Can’t bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you? — James Joyce, Ulysses. (Sylvia Beach 2 February 1922)
Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. — W. B. Yeats
I see when men love women. They give them but a little of their lives. But women, when they love, give everything. — Oscar Wilde
How pale the Princess is! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver. ― Oscar Wilde, Salomé, (Dover Publications; Unabridged edition, August 14, 2002) Originally published 1891.
It is not wise to find symbols in everything that one sees. It makes life too full of terrors. ― Oscar Wilde, Salomé, (Dover Publications; Unabridged edition, August 14, 2002) Originally published 1891.