James Joyce
James Joyce
James Augustine Aloysius Joycewas an Irish novelist and poet. He contributed to the modernist avant-garde, and is regarded as one of the most influential and important authors of the twentieth century...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth2 February 1882
CityRathgar, Ireland
CountryIreland
love romantic heart
His heart danced upon her movement like a cork upon a tide.
heart feet charity
Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet.
heart size littles
(...) You cruel creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.
dream heart men
She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.
running heart adventure
Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.
morning tired heart
And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?
heart deals
Deal with him, Hemingway!
athlete heart feet
There is only one thing that makes any one athlete better than another, his heart. We all put our underwear on feet first, so we are all human.
heart blood broken
Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up and there you are... Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.
heart sick chaos
He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.
heart calm my-heart
My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.
silly heart rivers
Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuee! Nuee! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream . . . there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears . . . for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I'se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!
beautiful heart beautiful-life
He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life
dream heart vision
The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside.