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James Joyce, Stephen Hero

James Joyce, Stephen Hero.

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James Joyce, Stephen Hero

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  1. James Joyce, Stephen Hero A young lady was standing on the steps of one of those brown brick houses which seem the very incarnation of Irish paralysis. A young gentleman was leaning on the rusty railings of the area. Stephen as he passed on his quest heard the following fragment of colloquy out of which he received an impression keen enough to afflict his sensitiveness very severely. The Young Lady — (drawling discreetly) … O, yes … I was … at the …. cha …pel … The Young Gentleman — (inaudible) … I … (again inaudibly … I … The Young Lady — (softly) … O … but you’re … ve … ry … wick …ed … . The Young Lady — (drawling discreetly) … O, yes … I was … at the …. cha …pel … The Young Gentleman — (inaudible) … I … (again inaudibly … I … The Young Lady — (softly) … O … but you’re … ve … ry … wick …ed … .

  2. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Ch. 4 He felt above him the vast indifferent dome and the calm processes of the heavenly bodies; and the earth beneath him, the earth that had borne him, had taken him to her breast. He closed his eyes in the languor of sleep. His eyelids trembled as if they felt the vast cyclic movement of the earth and her watchers, trembled as if they felt the strange light of some new world. His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic, dim, uncertain as under sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings. A world, a glimmer or a flower? Glimmering and trembling, trembling and unfolding, a breaking light, an opening flower, it spread in endless succession to itself, breaking in full crimson and unfolding and fading to palest rose, leaf by leaf and wave of light by wave of light, flooding all the heavens with its soft flushes, every flush deeper than the other.

  3. End of Ch. 4 Evening had fallen when he woke and the sand and arid grasses of his bed glowed no longer. He rose slowly and, recalling the rapture of his sleep, sighed at its joy. He climbed to the crest of the sandhill and gazed about him. Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of skyline, the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand; and the tide was flowing in fast to the land with a low whisper of her waves, islanding a few last figures in distant pools.

  4. Beginning Ch. 5 He drained his third cup of watery tea to the dregs and set to chewing the crusts of fried bread that were scattered near him, staring into the dark pool of the jar. The yellow dripping had been scooped out like a boghole and the pool under it brought back to his memory the dark turf-coloured water of the bath in Clongowes. The box of pawn tickets at his elbow had just been rifled and he took up idly one after another in his greasy fingers the blue and white dockets, scrawled and sanded and creased and bearing the name of the pledger as Daly or MacEvoy. 1 Pair Buskins. 1 D. Coat. 3 Articles and White. 1 Man's Pants. Then he put them aside and gazed thoughtfully at the lid of the box, speckled with louse marks, and asked vaguely: --How much is the clock fast now?

  5. Ulysses, Ch. 3 Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one saw: tell no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a few thousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once ...

  6. Walter Pater, The Renaissance (1871), Ch. 2 on Pico Della Mirandola The word mystic has been usually derived from a Greek word which signifies to shut, as if one shut one's lips brooding over what cannot be uttered; but the Platonists themselves derive it rather from the act of shutting the eyes, that one may see the more, inwardly. 

  7. Joyce, Finnegans Wake    riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.  Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passen-core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggyisthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: norhad topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumperall the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe totauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had akidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair invanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot apeck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and roryend to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.  The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and lateron life down through all christian minstrelsy. 

  8. sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold madfather, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the meresize of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes meseasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms. I see themrising! Save me from those therrble prongs! Two more. Onetwomoremens more. So. Avelaval. My leaves have drifted from me.All. But one clings still. I'll bear it on me. To remind me of. Lff!So soft this morning, ours. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like youdone through the toy fair! If I seen him bearing down on me nowunder whitespread wings like he'd come from Arkangels, I sinkI'd die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup. Yes,tid. There's where. First. We pass through grass behush the bushto. Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Usthen. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thous-endsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved along the PARIS,1922-1939.

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