C.F. Joyce Quotes

You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.

(...) You cruel creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.

Thanks be to God we lived so long and did so much good.

I don't want to die. Damn death. Long live life.

Hell is the centre of evils and, as you know, things are more intense at their centres than at their remotest points.

What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

Each lost soul will be a hell unto itself, the boundless fire raging in its very vitals.

Ulysses He ... saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid flatong flower.

We are an unfortunate priest-ridden race and always were and always will be tell the end of the chapter.... A priest-ridden Godforsaken race.

For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers.

Deal with him, Hemingway!

I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace averyburies and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear.

This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.

There is only one thing that makes any one athlete better than another, his heart. We all put our underwear on feet first, so we are all human.

Signatures of all things I am here to read.

Wipe your glosses with what you know.

Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying: — That is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy asked. — A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.

The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious.

Ireland sober is Ireland stiff.

if it is thus, I ask emphatically whence comes this thusness.

That ideal reader suffering from an ideal insomnia.

I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house? MTo seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer.

If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist. As it is, I am content torecognize myself an exile: and, prophetically, a repudiated one.

My dear husband, Richard, has been the driving force behind my success and rise to whatever level I am now. My story and legacy is incomplete without his mention.

Much of my writing is energized by unresolved memories - something like ghosts in the psychological sense.

There is nothing "ordinary" about reality.

Tragedy is the highest form of art.

Much in our lives is chance.

The use of language is all we have to pit against death and silence.

My writing is full of lives I might have led.

Not what the mind sees, but what the mind imagines the eye must see.

What does it mean to be born? After we die, will it be the same thing as it was before we were born? Or a different kind of nothingness? Because there might be knowledge then. Memory.

The regional voice is the universal voice.

It must happen to everyone. The last time you make love, you can't know it will be the last.

A writer’s life is in his work, and that is the place to find him.

Is there any mystery like who you finally turn out to be.

At all crucial moments in our lives we want to speak without knowing what to say.

An actress wants to be seen. An actress wants to be loved. By multitudes of people, not just one lone man.

Exotic: meaning you're "desired." For madness is seductive, sexy. Female madness. So long as the female is reasonably young and attractive.

She examined me, she looked at me critically and said, "Why are you trying to starve yourself?" To keep myself from feeling love, from feeling lust, from feeling anything at all.

It feels good, honey, but it isn't love.

After love a formal feeling comes.

If you're living with a scientist, you see the world differently than you do with a humanist. It's in some ways very subtle, the differences in perceiving reality.

Not even the most devastating truth can be told; it must be evoked.

You don't have to understand why anything that has happened nor do you even have to understand what it is that has happened. You have only to live with the remains.

Cherie, keep walking. Shut your eyes. We are headed for the bridge. We are going to cross it.

Like all virtuous people he imagines he must speak the truth.

There is no PAST anybody can get to, to alter things or even to know what those things were but there is definitely a future, we are already in it.

God's blessing is not always to be distinguished from His wrath.

When a marriage ends, who is left to understand it?