And it was the din of all these hollow-sounding voices that made him halt irresolutely in the pursuit of phantoms. He gave them ear only for a time, but he was happy only when he was far from them, beyond their call, alone or in the company of phantasmal comrades.

— James Joyce

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.

— James Joyce

And yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

— James Joyce

And you’ll miss me more as the narrowing weeks wing by. Someday duly, one day truly, twos day newly, till whens day.

— James Joyce

Anna was, Livia is, Mirabelle's to be. North men's thing made south folk's place but homely curators made each one in per-son? Latin me that, my trinity scholars, out of sure sans creed indoor Ryan! Circus Civil Eblanensis! He had buck goat paps on him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord! Twins of his bosom. Lord save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daughters of. Hawk? Can't hear with the waters of. The chattering waters of. Flittering bats, field mice back talk. Ho! Are you not gone home? What Them Malone? Can't hear with back of bats, all this differing waters of. Ho, talk save us! My few won't moo. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or She? All Livia's daughter-sons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who washed and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now! Tell me, tell me, tell me, elm! Night! Telltale of stem or stone. Beside the riverine waters of, hitherandthithering waters of. Night!

— James Joyce

Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.

— James Joyce

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

— James Joyce

Bombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten. By them, the man with my voice and my eyes and a ghost-woman with ashes on her breath. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will.

— James Joyce

By thinking of things you could understand them.

— James Joyce

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

— James Joyce