James Joyce cytaty

strona 2

„We wszystkim trzeba umieć uchwycić odpowiedni moment.”

„Człowiek mógłby żyć samotnie przez całe życie. Ale chociaż sam mógłby wykopać swój własny grób, musi mieć kogoś, kto go pochowa.”

„Nie można być jednocześnie dorosłym człowiekiem i chrześcijaninem.”

„Uderzony czas oddaje, cios za cios.”

„Człowiek genialny nie myli się; jego pomyłki są zamierzone, są bramą prowadzącą do odkryć.”

„Prawdziwość oszczerstwa nie chroni w oczach prawa przed oskarżeniem o rozpowszechnianie go.”

„Uśmiech wędruje daleko.”

„Rzeźnicy robią się podobni do surowych befsztyków.”

„Nigdy nie wiesz, czyje myśli przeżuwasz.”

„Lustro to najlepsze miejsce dla ogłoszeń, żeby wpadły w oko kobiecie.”

„Aptekarze rzadko się przenoszą. Za ciężko przesuwać te zielone i złote słoje.”

„Molo – rozczarowany most.”

„Domem Irlandczyka jest jego trumna.”

„Bóg jest daleko.”

„Kto rano wstaje, temu się źle zdaje.”

„Historia jest nocną zmorą, z której staramy się przebudzić.”

„Walczę, by przezwyciężyć słabość, strach, by odnieść zwycięstwo nad sobą.”

„Eksperyment – pułapka zastawiona na Boga.”

„Miał trochę odwagi ten pierwszy facet, który zerwał roślinę, żeby się leczyć.”

“End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take.”

“But there was no harshness in the eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others but often disappointed. He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances.”

“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.”

“Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.”

“They lived and laughed and loved and left.”

“Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.”

“Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.”

“But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”

“Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?”

“and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”

“The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.”

“Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.”

“Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.”

“Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.”

“Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.”

“Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.”

“Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.”

“Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.”

“He was alone. He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight.”

“The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.”

“My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.”

“Too excited to be genuinely happy”

“I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.”

“The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.”

“First we feel. Then we fall.”

“And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?”

“You can still die when the sun is shining.”

“The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.”

“What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours.”