History is a nightmare from which we are trying to awaken. James Joyce More Quotes by James Joyce More Quotes From James Joyce In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. James Joyce fleshpassing-awayspirit The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM! James Joyce intellectualimagination I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom. James Joyce singingbookrooms Though people may read more into Ulysses than I ever intended, who is to say that they are wrong: do any of us know what we are creating?Which of us can control our scribblings? They are the script of one's personality like your voice or your walk James Joyce creatingvoicepeople The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid, and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalises itself, so to speak. The aesthetic image in the dramatic form is life purified in and reprojected from the human imagination. The mystery of aesthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails. James Joyce imaginationgodart I want to give a picture of Dublin so complete that if the city suddenly disappeared from the earth it could be reconstructed out of my book. James Joyce citiesgivingbook Tenors get women by the score. James Joyce scoretenors Redheaded women buck like goats. James Joyce goatsbucks Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. It speaks of what seems fantastic and unreal to those who have lost the simple intuitions which are the test of reality; and, as it is often found at war with its age, so it makes no account of history, which is fabled by the daughters of memory. James Joyce daughtermemorieswar The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. James Joyce scotchglassesfall When the Irishman is found outside of Ireland in another environment, he very often becomes a respected man. The economic and intellectual conditions that prevail in his own country do not permit the development of individuality. No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove. James Joyce selfmencountry Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined. James Joyce gratituderegretappreciation Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. James Joyce revoltfantasticwriting Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas. James Joyce jackassesideasthinking Saying that a great genius is mad, while at the same time recognizing his artistic worth, is like saying that he had rheumatism or suffered from diabetes. Madness, in fact, is a medical term that can claim no more notice from the objective critic than he grants the charge of heresy raised by the theologian, or the charge of immorality raised by the police. James Joyce madpolicegenius Time's ruins build eternity's mansions. James Joyce ruinseternitytime What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours. James Joyce childhoodnameswriting Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. James Joyce bucksrazorsmirrors I wanted real adventures to happen to myself. But real adventures, I reflected, do not happen to people who remain at home: they must be sought abroad. James Joyce realhomeadventure God made food; the devil the cooks. James Joyce cooksdevilmade
