A Corpse Is Meat Gone Bad. Well

The Sea, The Snotgreen Sea, The Scrotumtightening Sea.

Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan Came From The Stairhead, Bearing A Bowl Of Lather On Which A Mirror And A Razor Lay Crossed. A Yellow Dressinggown, Ungirdled, Was Sustained Gently Behind Him By The Mild Morning Air. He Held The Bowl Aloft And Intoned: ----introibo Ad Altare Dei.

The Supreme Question About A Work Of Art Is Out Of How Deep A Life Does It Spring.

Every Jackass Going The Roads Thinks He Has Ideas.

One Of The Things I Could Never Get Accustomed To In My Youth Was The Difference I Found Between Life And Literature.