Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
PinkMonkey.com-MonkeyNotes-Dublinders, by James Joyce
PinkMonkey® Quotations on . . .
QUOTATION: Dubliners, strictly speaking, are my fellow-countrymen, but
I dont care to speak of our dear, dirty Dublin as they
do. Dubliners are the most hopeless, useless and inconsistent race of
charlatans I have ever come across, on the island or the continent. This
is why the English Parliament is full of the greatest windbags in the
world. The Dubliner passes his time gabbing and making the rounds in bars
or taverns or cathouses, without every getting fed up with
the double doses of whiskey and Home Rule, and at night, when he can hold
no more and is swollen up with poison like a toad, he staggers from the
side- door and, guided by an instinctive desire for stability along the
straight line of the houses, he goes slithering his backside against all
walls and corners. He goes arsing along as we say in English.
Theres the Dubliner for you.
QUOTATION: The men that is now is only all palaver and what they
can get out of you.
QUOTATION: Love between man and man is impossible because there must
not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible
because there must be sexual intercourse.
QUOTATION: Every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself
the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the
word gnomon in the Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now
it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It
filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon
its deadly work.
QUOTATION: Dubliner seems to me to have some meaning and
I doubt whether the same can be said for such words as Londoner
and Parisian both of which have been used by writers as titles.
From time to time I see in publishers lists announcements of books
on Irish subjects, so that I think people might be willing to pay for
the special odour of corruption which, I hope, floats over my stories.
QUOTATION: My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of
my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to
me the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent
public under four of its aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity and
public life. The stories are arranged in this order. I have written it
for the most part in a style of scrupulous meanness and with the conviction
that he is a very bold man who dares to alter in the presentment, still
more to deform, whatever he has seen and heard.
QUOTATION: 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 upon 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
slowly 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