Zitate von James Joyce
Ein bekanntes Zitat von James Joyce:
Irland ist eine alte Sau, die ihre Ferkel frißt.
Informationen über James Joyce
Schriftsteller, wurde "Ulysses" weltberühmt, "Dubliner Novellen", "Finnegans Wake" (Irland, 1882 - 1941).
James Joyce · Geburtsdatum · Sterbedatum
James Joyce wäre heute 142 Jahre, 2 Monate, 17 Tage oder 51.941 Tage alt.
Geboren am 02.02.1882 in Rathgar
Gestorben am 13.01.1941 in Zürich
Sternzeichen: ♒ Wassermann
Unbekannt
Weitere 66 Zitate von James Joyce
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I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself my home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use, silence, exile, and cunning.
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If I seen him bearing down on me now under whitespread wings like he'd come from Arkangels, I sink I'd die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup.
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Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
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It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking glass of a servant.
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Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet.
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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 hencod's roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
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O tell me all about Anna Livia! I want to hear all about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna Livia? Yes, of course, we all know Anna Livia. Tell me all. Tell me now.
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Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo.
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Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer. Terror is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the secret cause.
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Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. They aren't going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warm full blooded life.
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Riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
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She used to say Ben Dollard had a base barreltone voice.
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Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: - Introibo ad altare Dei.
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Television kills telephony in brothers' broil.
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Tell me, tell me, tell me, elm! Night night! Telmetale of stem or stone. Beside the rivering waters of hitherandthithering waters of. Night!
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That ideal reader suffering from an ideal insomnia.
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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.
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The flushpots of Euston and the hanging garments of Marylebone.
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The Gracehoper was always jigging ajog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity.
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The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.
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