How do I know what I have to say wntil I see what I have said?
Ulysses ... is a dogged attempt to cover the universe with mud, an inverted Victorianism, an attempt to make crossness and dirt succeed where sweetness and light failed, a simplification of the human character in the interests of Hell.
I don't know what to think until I see what I've said.
Logic! Good gracious! What rubbish!
Even a fellow with a camera has his favourite subjects, as we can see looking through the Kodak-albums of our friends. One amateur prefers the family group, another bathing scenes, another cows upon an alp, or kittens held upside down in the arms of a black-faced child. The tendency to choose one subject rather than another indicates the photographer's temperament. Nevertheless, his passion is for photography rather than for selection, a kitten will serve when no cows are available.
For you cannot have gentility without paying for it.
But after all, what have we to do with taverns? Real menace belongs to the drawing-room.
The strong are so stupid.
Italy and London are the only places where I don't feel to exist on sufferance.
The novelist, unlike many of his colleagues, makes up a number of word-masses roughly describing himself (roughly: niceties shallcome later), gives them names and sex, assigns them plausible gestures, and causes them to speak by the use of inverted commas, and perhaps to behave consistently.
How few writers can prostitute all their powers!
But why I cry out against Rubens is because he painted undressed people instead of naked ones.
There are occasions when I would rather feel like a fly than a spider.
One's favorite book is as elusive as one's favorite pudding.
Without form, the sensitiveness vanishes.
The Germans are called brutal, the Spanish cruel, the Americans superficial, and so on; but we are perfide Albion, the island of hypocrites, the people who have built up an Empire with a Bible in one hand, a pistol in the other, and financial concessions in both pockets. Is the charge true? I think it is.
God is not Love in the East. He is Power, although Mercy may temper it.
It is devilish difficult to criticise society & also create human beings.
What the world most needs today are negative virtues - not minding people, not being huffy, touchy, irritable or revengeful.
Be soft, even if you stand to get squashed.
I am an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.
I'd far rather leave a thought behind me than a child. Other people can have children.
Hardship is vanishing, but so is style, and the two are more closely connected than the present generation supposes.
Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love.
Are not beauty and delicacy the same?
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