James Joyce

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.

The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or
behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, read more

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.

Mistakes are the portals of discovery.

Mistakes are the portals of discovery.

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with read more

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.

You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.