"People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus."
"Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she?"
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Source: James Joyce (2016). “James Joyce The Dover Reader”, p.431, Courier Dover Publications
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