Across the page the numbers moved in grave morrice, in the mummery of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. James Joyce More Quotes by James Joyce More Quotes From James Joyce Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuee! Nuee! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream . . . there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears . . . for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I'se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay! James Joyce sillyheartrivers Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of sky line, the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand: and the tide was flowing in fast to the land with a low whisper of her waves, islanding a few last figures in distant pools. James Joyce landmoonsky What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent? James Joyce embracelogicalkind Theologians consider that it was the sin of pride, the sinful thought conceived in an instant: non serviam: I will not serve. That instant was his [Lucifer's] ruin. James Joyce ruinssinpride Ineluctable modality of the visible; at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read. James Joyce signaturesvisioneye By his monstrous way of life he seemed to have put himself beyond the limits of reality. Nothing moved him or spoke to him from the real world unless he heard it in an echo of the infuriated cries within him. James Joyce echoesrealworld Every age must look for its sanction to its poetry and philosophy, for in these the human mind, as it looks backward or forward, attains to an eternal state. James Joyce agemindphilosophy The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside. James Joyce visiondreamheart The philosophic mind inclines always to an elaborate life--the life of Goethe or of Leonardo da Vinci; but the life of the poet isintense--the life of Blake or of Dante--taking into its centre the life that surrounds it and flinging it abroad again amid planetary music. James Joyce philosophicalpoetrymind I shall write a book some day about the appropriateness of names. Geoffrey Chaucer has a ribald ring, as is proper and correct, and Alexander Pope was inevitably Alexander Pope. Colley Cibber was a silly little man without much elegance and Shelley was very Percy and very Bysshe. James Joyce humoroussillyfunny Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. James Joyce hillstreemen All human history moves towards one great goal James Joyce goalsoccermoving Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she? James Joyce eyebluehands I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppled masonry, and time one livid final flame. James Joyce flamesglassestime When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flown at it to hold it back from flight. James Joyce lightmencountry Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatesoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer. James Joyce sufferingmindfeelings My heart is quite calm now. I will go back. James Joyce calmmy-heartheart I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. James Joyce nightmeanthinking A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. James Joyce errorsangelway What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction? James Joyce destructionsoulpraying
