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.

Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he would read more

Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he would ascent to an angelical stature; and, as he attached the fervent nature of his companion more and more closely to him, he heard the strange impersonal voice which he recognised as his own, insisting on the soul's incurable lonliness. We cannot give ourselves, it said: we are our own.

My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.

My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.

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.

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.