James Joyce Quotes - Page 3

All fiction is autobiographical fantasy.

As I am. As I am. All or not at all.

My puns are not trivial. They are quadrivial

While you have a thing it can be taken from you…..but when you give it, you have given it. no robber can take it from you. It is yours then forever when you have given it. It will be yours always. That is to give.

In the particular is contained the universal.

It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.

Time's ruins build eternity's mansions.

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.

We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.

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.

I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short time of space.

You can still die when the sun is shining.

The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.

Every physical quality admired by men in women is in direct connection with the manifold functions of women for the propagation of the species.

Do you know what a pearl is and what an opal is? My soul when you came sauntering to me first through those sweet summer evenings was beautiful but with the pale passionless beauty of a pearl. Your love has passed through me and now I feel my mind something like an opal, that is, full of strange uncertain hues and colours, of warm lights and quick shadows and of broken music.

A nation is the same people living in the same place.

Thought is the thought of thought.

Too excited to be genuinely happy

We are bound together by the sympathy of our antipathies.

Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.

His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.

His heart danced upon her movement like a cork upon a tide.

Like the tender fires of stars moments of their life together, that no one knew of or would ever know of, broke upon and illuminated his memory.

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.