Happy 100th Birthday

is this bait

Literally every sentence he wrote (Finnegans Wake is a different beast though).

Here is one particularly famous example:

Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

It is neither Joyce's nor Portrait's bday

I'm suck a sucker for pretty prose, this sounds and feels so nice

It's from The Dead. I can't recommend Dubliners highly enough.

End of Nestor always stuck with me:

"On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins."

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit

that's incredibly mundane and too many flowery words to say "snow fell on dudes grave"

this is good

this is stupid

that is how we get to Missas in Massas. The old Marino tale. We veriters verity notefew demmed lustres priorly magistrite maxi-mollient in ludubility learned. Facst. Teak off that wise head! Great sinner, good sonner, is in effect the motto of the MacCowell family. The gloved fist (skrimmhandsker) was intraduced into their socerdatal tree before the fourth of the twelfth and it is even a little odd all four horolodgeries still gonging restage Jakob van der Bethel, smolking behing his pipe, with Essav of Messagepostumia, lentling out his borrowed chafingdish, before cymbaloosing the apostles at every hours of changeover. The first and last rittlerattle of the anniverse; when is a nam nought a nam whenas it is a. Watch! Heroes' Highway where our fleshers leave their bonings and every bob and joan to fill the bumper fair. It is their segnall for old Champelysied to seek the shades of his retirement and for young Chappielassies to tear a round and tease their partners lovesoftfun at

first one rounds off the story and seems fitting, given the title

last one is only good in the context of the episode, where everything is told pretty matter of factly, but then there's something that resembles poetry randomly.

if it /randomly/ resembles poetry, then it breaks theme, and thus is an odd combination of sounds used for an offbeat endcap as opposed to any other bit of writing that would suit better (and not include the term "heaventree")

if you read it you'd know what Im talking about

lol

I love this passage so much, I kind of wish people didn't post it all the time though, it should be appreciated within the context of reading the whole story.

>tfw no other story has made me feel such sublime sadness

>At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
What did he mean by this?

Lol, look at the pleb that thinks the only thing in that passage it literal snow falling on a literal grave. Everyone point and laugh to teach him a lesson.

I agree that it is much better in the context of the story but it is the easiest passage to post in the hope of convincing someone to go read Joyce. They should read it and seek out the full story.

I loved The Dead but I actually like Grace best.

allow me to inform you of your bad opinions

they're wrong

Not even trying to be cheeky when I say I think the writing in his love letters is some of the most gorgeous in the language:

>darling, mine! I love you. All I have written above is only a moment or two of brutal madness. The last drop of seed has hardly been squirted up your cunt before it is over and my true love for you, the love of my verses, the love of my eyes for your strange luring eyes, comes blowing over my soul like a wind of spices. My prick is still hot and stiff and quivering from the last brutal drive it has given you when a faint hymn is heard rising in tender pitiful worship of you from the dim cloisters of my heart.

>I would like you to wear drawers with three or four frills one over the other at the knees and up the thighs and great crimson bows in them, I mean not schoolgirls' drawers with a thin shabby lace border, thigh round the legs and so thin that the flesh shows with a full loose bottom and wide legs, all frills and lace and ribbons, and heavy with perfume so that whenever you show them, whether in pulling up your clothes hastily to do something or cuddling yourself up prettily to be blocked, I can see only a swelling mass of white stuff and frills and so that when I bend down over you to open them and give you a burning lustful kiss on your naughty bare bum I can smell the perfume of your drawers as well as the warm odour of your cunt and the heavy smell of your behind.

One of the greatest short novels I've ever read. Maybe the greatest.

That epiphany scene on the beach, WOW. I was leaping around the room in joy after reading it. I don't think a passage of prose has ever affected me more.

Incredibly, Ulysses is 100 times even better.

Im actually reading this book for the second time and I got to say the second reading is so much better than the first time around. The prose is amazing and I love the laid back nature of the book's plot. I love the part of the book where the priest tells Stephen the horrors of hell when caught sleeping with a woman. Personally I think the scetion has two purposes 1) for the conflict Stephen has with his natural desires and his desire to be a noble and a good Catholic. 2) Joyce is poking fun at the long and ranting nature of the Catholic Church of the time. The sheer ridiculous and ranting nature of the priests shpell about hell is used to scare children into following the order. It's almost like satire. Thoughts?

“What special affinities appeared to him to exist between the moon and woman?

Her antiquity in preceding and surviving successive tellurian generations: her nocturnal predominance: her satellitic dependence: her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, rising, and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning: the forced invariability of her aspect: her indeterminate response to inaffirmative interrogation: her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her power to enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid delinquency: the tranquil inscrutability of her visage: the terribility of her isolated dominant implacable resplendent propinquity: her omens of tempest and of calm: the stimulation of her light, her motion and her presence: the admonition of her craters, her arid seas, her silence: her splendour, when visible: her attraction, when invisible.”