James Joyce
James Joyce
James Augustine Aloysius Joycewas an Irish novelist and poet. He contributed to the modernist avant-garde, and is regarded as one of the most influential and important authors of the twentieth century...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth2 February 1882
CityRathgar, Ireland
CountryIreland
beautiful cry wanted
He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.
stars science fruit
The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.
eye voice giving
Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he would ascent to an angelical stature; and, as he attached the fervent nature of his companion more and more closely to him, he heard the strange impersonal voice which he recognised as his own, insisting on the soul's incurable lonliness. We cannot give ourselves, it said: we are our own.
gratitude appreciation regret
Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined.
long bird orbs
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness...
friday true-life thursday
Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.
beautiful artist creation
The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.
pain flames fire
In this life our sorrows are either not very long or not very great because nature either overcomes them by habits or puts an end to them by sinking under their weight. But in hell the torments cannot be overcome by habit, for while they are of terrible intensity they are at the same time of continual variety, each pain, so to speak, taking fire from another and re-endowing that which has enkindled it with a still fiercer flame.
hunting mind balance
Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.
civilization may creation
Civilization may be said indeed to be the creation of its outlaws.
mistake long eternity
You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
names blood foolish
and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
writing way arguing
I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality.
old-friends no-friends
There's no friends like the old friends.