In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name? ― James Joyce, Dubliners: The Dead. (Grant Richards Ltd., London June 1914)
He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition. ― James Joyce, Dubliners: Eveline. (Grant Richards… Continue reading James Joyce
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires. — James Joyce, from “Araby,” Dubliners. (Grant Richards Ltd., London June 1914)
Absence, the highest form of presence. — James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. (Penguin Classics; 1 edition, March 25, 2003) Originally published December 29th 1916.
Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. M.B. loves a fair genteman. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alive, the elephant. Old Mr. Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs.… Continue reading James Joyce
Memories beset his brooding brain. — James Joyce, Ulysses (Sylvia Beach, 1922)
He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. ― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. (Penguin Classics; 1 edition, March 25, 2003) Originally published December 29th 1916.