I Am Quite Content To Go Down

Imagine Some Foul And Putrid Corpse That Has Lain Rotting And Decomposing In The Grave, A Jelly-like Mass Of Liquid Corruption. Imagine Such A Corpse A Prey To Flames, Devoured By The Fire Of Burning Brimstone And Giving Off Dense Choking Fumes Of Nauseous Loathsome Decomposition. And Then Imagine This Sickening Stench, Multiplied A Millionfold And A Millionfold Again From The Millions Upon Millions Of Fetid Carcasses Massed Together In The Reeking Darkness, A Huge And Rotting Human Fungus. Imagine All This, And You Will Have Some Idea Of The Horror Of The Stench Of Hell.

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.

I Fear Those Big Words, Stephen Said, Which Make Us So Unhappy.

First, In The History Of Words There Is Much That Indicates The History Of Men, And In Comparing The Speech Of To-day With That Ofyears Ago, We Have A Useful Illustration Of The Effect Of External Influences On The Very Words Of A Race.

I Confess That I Do Not See What Good It Does To Fulminate Against The English Tyranny While The Roman Tyranny Occupies The Palace Of The Soul.