James Joyce: His Writing Is Not About

All I Know Is What The Words Know, And Dead Things, And That Makes A Handsome Little Sum, With A Beginning And A Middle And An End, As In The Well-built Phrase And The Long Sonata Of The Dead.

To Think, When One Is No Longer Young, When One Is Not Yet Old, That One Is No Longer Young, That One Is Not Yet Old, That Is Perhaps Something.

Better Hope Deferred Than None.

In The Landscape Of Extinction, Precision Is Next To Godliness.

Silence And Darkness Were All I Craved. Well, I Get A Certain Amount Of Both. They Being One.