Джеймс Джойс цитаты

страница 5

„Нет лучших друзей, чем старые друзья.“

„Три условия требуются для красоты: целостность, гармония, сияние.“

„Жизнь слишком коротка, чтобы читать плохую книгу.“

„Вам кажутся темными мои слова? Тьма в наших душах - этого вам не кажется?“

„Гений не делает ошибок. Его промахи — преднамеренные.“

„Хотя их жизнь была скромной, они верили в хорошее питание.“

„Человек может всю жизнь прожить в одиночестве. А что, может. Но все таки кто то ему нужен кто бы его зарыл хотя могилу он себе может выкопать сам.“

„Прочитайте свое собственное некрологическое уведомление; они говорят, что вы живете дольше. Дает вам второе дыхание. Новая аренда жизни.“

„Но все они там скребутся, чтобы выдавить вероятность, которая решит и спасет робкий ребус жизни“

„Во мне есть что-то дьявольское, из-за чего я обожаю разрушать мнения других обо мне, доказывать им, что на самом деле я эгоист, гордец и хитрец, равнодушный к людям.“

„Я знаю, что это произведение не больше, чем игра, в которую я играл, руководствуясь собственными правилами.“

„И позади у него лежало великое будущее.“

„Есть воздуха струны
И струны земные,
Глубокие струи,
Где ивы речные.
Там бродит Любовь
Среди сумерек мглистых,
На мантии жёлтой
Увядшие листья.“

„Мою мать убили мало-помалу дурное обращение моего отца, годы постоянных тягот и откровенный цинизм моего поведения.“

„Человек не может по-настоящему любить красоту и истину, если он не питает отвращения к толпе; то же и художник: хотя он и не может не взывать к толпе, он должен уметь отрешиться от нее.“

„Поэзия, даже когда она кажется наиболее фантастической, всегда является восстанием против выдумки, в некотором смысле восстанием против действительности.“

„и все же ее имя звучало заговоренным заклятьем для моей безбашенной кровинушки....“

„Мы не можем сменить родину. Давайте-ка сменим тему.“

„Предметом художника является создание прекрасного. Что такое прекрасное, это другой вопрос.“

„Что бы еще ни было неуверенным в этом вонючем навозе мира, материнская любовь - нет.“

„Легкая музыка виски, попадающего в бокалы, сделала приятный перерыв.“

„В частном умещается общее.“

„Меня. И я сейчас.“

“I'll tickle his catastrophe.”

“Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.”

“Write it, damn you, write it! What else are you good for?”

“[A writer is] a priest of eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everliving life.”

“[…] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.”

“Interpretations of interpretations interpreted.”

“The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM!”

“Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand. I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. What is that word known to all men? I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.”

“A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory.”

“Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.”

“I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.”

“In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation.”

“Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.”

“Pride and hope and desire like crushed herbs in his heart sent up vapours of maddening incense before the eyes of his mind.”

“In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?”

“Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.”

“More mud, more crocodiles.”

“Three quarks for Muster Mark! (383.1)”

“I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”

“Having finished his argument Stephen walked on in silence. He felt Cranly's hostility and he accused himself of having cheapened the eternal images of beauty. For the first time, too, he felt slightly awkward in his friend's company and to restore a mood of flippant familiarity he glanced up at the clock of the Ballast Office and smiled:”

“Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, is honoured by posterity because he was the last to discover America.”

“Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave”

“The Irishman, finding himself in another environment, outside Ireland, very often knows how to make his worth felt. The economic and intellectual conditions of his homeland do not permit the individual to develop. The spirit of the country has been weakened by centuries of useless struggle and broken treaties. Individual initiative has been paralyzed by the influence and admonitions of the church, while the body has been shackled by peelers, duty officers and soldiers. No self-respecting person wants to stay in Ireland. Instead he will run from it, as if from a country that has been subjected to a visitation by an angry Jove.”

“I laugh at it today, now that I have had all the good of it. Let the bridge blow up, provided I have got my troops across… Nonetheless, that book was a terrible risk. A transparent leaf separates it from madness.”

“He caun ne'er be bothered but maun e'er be waked. If there is a future in every past that is present Quis est qui non novit quinnigan and Qui quae quot at Quinnigan's Quake! Stump! His producers are they not his consumers? Your exagmination round his factification for incamination of a warping process. Declaim!”

“Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another's soul.”

“in the Nichtian glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious tongues this is nat language at any sinse of the world”

“Vast wings above the lambent waters brood
Of sullen day.”

“The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.”