Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the sufferer. Terror is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the secret cause.
Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
--It is a curious thing, do you know, Cranly said dispassionately, how your mind is supersaturated with the religion in which you say you disbelieve.
The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.
It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant.
Kingstown pier, Stephen said. Yes, a disappointed bridge.
I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.
History, said Stephen, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
Stephen jerked his thumb towards the window, saying: -- That is God
Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!
-- What? Mr Deasy asked.
-- A shout in the street, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.