Thought is the thought of thought.
Thought is the thought of thought.
What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones that passed it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.
Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer. Terror is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the secret cause.
That is horse piss and rotted straw, he thought. It is a good odour to breathe. It will calm my heart. My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.
The feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
According to his brother Stanislaus . . . 'Unhappiness was like a vice.' He was cold and distant except with those closest to him, but when, on his mother's death, he discovered a bundle of letters that his father had written to her before they were married, he spent the whole afternoon reading them 'with as little compunction as a doctor or a lawyer . . . puts questions.' When he had finished, Stanislaus asked him 'Well' 'Nothing,' James Joyce answered curtly and rather contemptuously. Nothing, thought Stanislaus, for the young poet with a mission, but clearly something for the woman who had kept them all those years of neglect and poverty.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories