Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he...

Though much is taken, much abides; and thoughWe are not now that strength which in old daysMoved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;One equal temper of heroic hearts,Made weak by time and...

And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldn’t probably hold a proverbial candle to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.

And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Be just before you are generous.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.

Each imagining himself to be the first last and only alone, whereas he is neither first last nor last nor only not alone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethroughGleams that untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when I move.How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!As though...

The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue…

An array of colorful camps dotted the river banks, like a garrison of army on a peace keeping mission. A mini India, many great nations. different people living in the same place, an inversion of...

ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there you are...

Best Interpretive Dance” for my adaptation of Joyce’s Ulysses into crunk. That’s cool and all, but you should see my Dostoevsky.

In the make-up of human beings, intelligence counts for more than our hands, and that is our true strength.

Beneath it allI kept faith with Ithaca, travelled,Travelled and travelled,Suffering much, enjoying a little;Met strange people singingNew myths; made myths myself.But this lion of the seaSalt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,Touched with power, insistentOn this brief...

Molly Bloom is simply the most sensuous woman in literature.

A man [Joyce] whose earliest stories appeared next to the manure prices in the Irish Homestead knew that columns of prose, like columns of shit, could both recultivate the earth.

Beauty: it curves, curves are beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires.

Shite and onions!