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1
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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 (1882-1941), Irish author. Stephen Dedalus, in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, ch. 5 (1916).)
Read more quotations about / on: god
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2
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It seems to me you do not care what banality a man expresses so long as he expresses it in Irish.
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish author. Stephen Daedalus, in Stephen Hero, ch. 17 (1944, revised 1975).
In answer to Madden's attempts to convert him to Irish nationalism.)
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3
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What went forth to the ends of the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self.
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish author. Ulysses, ch. 15, "Circe," The Corrected Text, ed. Hans Walter Gabler, Random House (1986).
Stephen Dedalus's musings describe the essential literary plot for Joyce.)
Read more quotations about / on: sun, god, world
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4
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Around us fear, descending
Darkness of fear above
And in my heart how deep unending
Ache of love!
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish writer. On the Beach at Fontana (l. 9-12). . .
Oxford Book of Modern Verse, The, 1892-1935. William Butler Yeats, ed. (1936) Oxford University Press.)
Read more quotations about / on: fear, heart, love
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5
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Wind whines and whines the shingle,
The crazy pierstakes groan;
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish writer. On the Beach at Fontana (l. 1-2). . .
Oxford Book of Modern Verse, The, 1892-1935. William Butler Yeats, ed. (1936) Oxford University Press.)
Read more quotations about / on: crazy, wind
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6
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A nation? says Bloom. A nation is the same people living in the same place.
—By God, then, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place for the past five years.
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish author. Ulysses, ch. 12, "Cyclops," The Corrected Text, ed. Hans Walter Gabler, Random House (1986).)
Read more quotations about / on: god, people
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7
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Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
(James Joyce (1882-1941), Irish author. Cranly, in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, ch. 5 (1916).)
Read more quotations about / on: mother, love, world
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