Thought is the thought of thought.

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.

When a man is born...there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.

An Irishman needs three things : silence, cunnning, and exile.

Does nobody understand?

When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.

Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.