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I See The Regions Of Snow And Ice, I See The Sharp-eyed Samoiede And The Finn, I See The Seal-seeker In His Boat Poising His Lance, I See The Siberian On His Slight-built Sledge Drawn By Dogs, I See The Porpoise-hunters, I See The Whale-crews Of The South Pacific And The North Atlantic, I See The Cliffs, Glaciers, Torrents, Valleys Of Switzerland - I Mark The Long Winters And The Isolation.

-James Joyce

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I See The Regions

James Joyce

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I See The Regions Of Snow And Ice, I See The Sharp-eyed Samoiede And The Finn, I See The Seal-seeker In His Boat Poising His Lance, I See The Siberian On His Slight-built Sledge Drawn By Dogs, I See The Porpoise-hunters, I See The Whale-crews Of The South Pacific And The North Atlantic, I See The Cliffs, Glaciers, Torrents, Valleys Of Switzerland - I Mark The Long Winters And The Isolation.

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My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished Stones Sinking Through A Quagmire.

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Think You're Escaping And Run Into Yourself. Longest Way Round Is The Shortest Way Home.

History Is That Nightmare From Which There Is No Awakening.

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It Soared, A Bird, It Held Its Flight, A Swift Pure Cry, Soar Silver Orb It Leaped Serene, Speeding, Sustained, To Come, Don't Spin It Out Too Long Long Breath He Breath Long Life, Soaring High, High Resplendent, Aflame, Crowned, High In The Effulgence Symbolistic, High, Of The Ethereal Bosom, High, Of The High Vast Irradiation Everywhere All Soaring All Around About The All, The Endlessnessnessness.

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Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.

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In The Particular Is Contained The Universal.

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He Could Not Feel Her Near Him In The Darkness Nor Hear Her Voice Touch His Ear. He Waited For Some Minutes Listening. He Could Hear Nothing: The Night Was Perfectly Silent. He Listened Again: Perfectly Silent. He Felt That He Was Alone.

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Better Pass Boldly Into That Other World, In The Full Glory Of Some Passion, Than Fade And Wither Dismally With Age.

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A Corpse Is Meat Gone Bad. Well And What's Cheese? Corpse Of Milk.

You Made Me Confess The Fears That I Have. But I Will Tell You Also What I Do Not Fear. I Do Not Fear To Be Alone Or To Be Spurned For Another Or To Leave Whatever I Have To Leave. And I Am Not Afraid To Make A Mistake, Even A Great Mistake, A Lifelong Mistake And Perhaps As Long As Eternity Too.

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While You Have A Thing It Can Be Taken From You…..but When You Give It, You Have Given It. No Robber Can Take It From You. It Is Yours Then Forever When You Have Given It. It Will Be Yours Always. That Is To Give.

To Discover The Mode Of Life Or Of Art Whereby My Spirit Could Express Itself In Unfettered Freedom.

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Fall If You Will, But Rise You Must.

We Were Always Loyal To Lost Causes...success For Us Is The Death Of The Intellect And Of The Imagination. ~ Professor Machugh

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Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.

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Positive Thinking

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Quotation Marks Quotato Marks! Bah!

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Mistakes Are The Portals Of Discovery.

I Am Proud To Be An Emotionalist.

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Wipe Your Glasses With What You Know.

The Sacred Pint Alone Can Unbind The Tongue.

Lord, Heap Miseries Upon Us Yet Entwine Our Arts With Laughters Low.

Love Me. Love My Umbrella.

The Incompatibility Of Aquacity With The Erratic Originality Of Genius.

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That Ideal Reader Suffering From An Ideal Insomnia.

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Beware The Horns Of A Bull, The Heels Of The Horse, And The Smile Of An Englishman.

As I Am. As I Am. All Or Not At All.

He Found In The World Without As Actual What Was In His World Within As Possible.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality. It Speaks Of What Seems Fantastic And Unreal To Those Who Have Lost The Simple Intuitions Which Are The Test Of Reality; And, As It Is Often Found At War With Its Age, So It Makes No Account Of History, Which Is Fabled By The Daughters Of Memory.

Lily, The Caretaker's Daughter, Was Literally Run Off Her Feet. Hardly Had She Brought One Gentleman Into The Little Pantry Behind The Office On The Ground Floor And Helped Him Off With His Overcoat, Than The Wheezy Hall-door Bell Clanged Again And She Had To Scamper Along The Bare Hallway To Let In Another Guest. It Was Well For Her She Had Not To Attend To The Ladies Also.

The Studious Silence Of The Library ... Thought Is The Thought Of Thought. Tranquil Brightness.

When The Soul Of A Man Is Born In This Country There Are Nets Flown At It To Hold It Back From Flight.

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