But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable.
A facade of skyscrapers facing a lake and behind the facade, every type of dubiousness.
Nature pulls one way and human nature another.
Oxford is Oxford: not a mere receptacle for youth, like Cambridge. Perhaps it wants its inmates to love it rather than to love one another.
When you come back you will not be you. And I may not be I.
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.