Joyce quotes on... love, human nature, Ireland, religion, Ulysses, Bloom

Джеймс Джойс о: любви, человеческой природе, Ирландии, религии, Улиссе, Леопольде Блуме.

On love:

I Don't love anyone except my family.
Wherever thou [Nora barnacle] art shall be Erin to me.
Love is a cursed nuisance especially when coupled with lust also.
When I hear the word 'love' I fell like puking.
I am sure that no law made by man is sacred before the impulse of passion.
Greater love than this, he said, no man hath that a man lay down his wife for his friend. Go thou and do likewise.
Win me, woo me, wed me, ah weary me.

People live together in the same house all their lives and at the end they are as far apart as ever.
The only decent people I ever saw at a race course were the horses.
They did not throw him [Parnell] to the English wolves; they tore him to pieces themselves.
You know people never value anything unless they have to steal it. Even an alley cat would rather shake an old bone out of the garbage than come up and eat a nicely prepared chop from your saucer.
One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of a wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot.
As for psychoanalysis, it's neither more nor less than blackmail.
Why all this fuss and bother about the mystery of the unconscious? What about the mystery of the conscious? What do they know about that?

Ireland, they say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. And do you know why? Because she never let them in. — Ulysses, Nestor
Oh Ireland my first and only love
Where Christ and Caesar are hand in glove
- Poems and Epiphanies, 'Gas from a Burner
We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame. -Ulysses, Episode 1
Ireland sober is Ireland stiff. — Finnegan's Wake, p.214
My intention was to write a chapter in the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to me the centre of paralysis. — Letter, 5 May 1906
How sick, sick, sick I am of Dublin! It is the city of failure, of rancour and of unhappiness. I long to be out of it. — Letter, 22 August 1909
It is well past time for Ireland to have done once and for all with failure. — Critical Writings, p.174

The priest was rinsing out the chalice: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. Wine. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he drank what they are used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage. — Ulysses, Episode 5
The Deity ain't no nickle dime bumshow. I put it to you that he's on the square and a corking fine business proposition. He's the grandest thing yet and don't you forget it. Shout salvation in King Jesus. — Ulysses, Episode 15
But why should I have brought Nora to a priest or a lawyer to make her swear away her life to me? And why should I superimpose on my child the very troublesome burden of belief which my father and mother superimposed on me? — Letter 2 or 3 May 1905
For my part I believe that to establish the church in full power again in Europe would mean a renewal of the inquisition. — Letter 12 August 1906
I see nothing on every side of me but the image of the adulterous priest and his servants. — Letter 27 October 1909
I confess that I do not see what good it is to fulminate against the English tyranny while the Roman tyranny occupies the palace of the soul. Critical Writings of James Joyce, p.173
In Ireland Catholicism is black magic. — Quoted in R. Ellmann, James Joyce

When you remember that Dublin has been a capital for thousands of years, that it is the 'second' city of the British Empire, that it is nearly three times as big as Venice it seems strange that no artist has given it to the world.
If Ulysses isn't fit to read, life isn't fit to live.
I have come to the conclusion that I cannot write without offending people.
The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole life to reading my works.
I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality.
The pity is that the public will demand and find a moral in my book, or worse they may take it in some serious way, and on the honour of a gentleman, there is not one single serious word in it.
I want to give a picture of Dublin so complete that if the city one day suddenly disappeared from the earth it could be reconstructed out of my book.

Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family values, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland's hearts and hands.
I was happier then. Or was I? Or am I now? Twentyeight I was. She twentythree. When we left Lombard Street west something changed. Could never like it again after Rudy. Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.
He's been known to put his hand down to help a fellow. Give the devil his due, O Bloom has his good points.
And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hater and persecuted. Also now. This very moment. This very instant. Gob, he nearly burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar.
And the traveller Leopold went into the castle for to rest him for a space being sore of limb after many marches environing in divers lands and sometimes venery.
He's mad on the subject of drawers that's plain to be seen always skeezing at those brazenfaced things on bicycles with their skirts blowing up to their navels.
Bloom's justness and reasonablenes should grow in interest. As the day wears on Bloom should overshadow them all.