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Amazing style and prose, as well as substance. - Goodreads
He is not easy to read. - Goodreads
He's a great writer. - Goodreads
Good portrayal of what Catholic indoctrination does. - Goodreads
The writing was amazing. - Goodreads
It works better as poetry and not prose. - Goodreads
Review: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManUser Review - Scott Freeman - Goodreads
I struggle between 3 and 4 stars for this one. I had to work hard at this but it will stick with me for a while. Chapters 3-4 alone are worth the read. Read full review
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Review: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManUser Review - Ms. Manal - Goodreads
Reading it was a torture Read full review
altar altar wine amid answered Athy beauty began body boys Brother Michael called Casey chapel Clongowes cold confession Cranly asked Cranly's cried damned Dante dark Davin Dedalus door esthetic eternity eyes face faint Father Arnall Father Dolan feel fell fellows felt fingers fire flame Fleming gazed grey hand head hear heard heart hell Heron holy instant Ireland jesuit Jimmy Magee Kitty O'Shea knelt knew laugh Leicester Abbey light lips listening looked Lynch MacCann Mike Flynn mind morning mortal sin mother murmur night pain passed prayed prayer prefect of studies priest rector remember repeated round Saint seemed shame side silence sin after sin sinner sins slowly smell smiling soft soul soutane Stephen Stephen Dedalus Stephen drew stood strange student tell Temple thing thought told turned Uncle Charles voice walked weary window words
Page 299 - Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.
Page 221 - The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words home, Christ, ale, master, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language.
Page 252 - The dramatic form is reached when the vitality which has flowed and eddied round each person fills every person with such vital force that he or she assumes a proper and intangible esthetic life.
Page 299 - Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone. Come.
Page 240 - The feelings excited by improper art are kinetic, desire or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to something; loathing urges us to abandon, to go from something. These are kinetic emotions. The arts which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper arts. The esthetic emotion (I use the general term) is therefore static. The mind is arrested and raised above desire and loathing.
Page 194 - No, it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of legend and colour? Or was it that, being as weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language manycoloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose.
Page 297 - Michael Robartes remembers forgotten beauty and, when his arms wrap her round, he presses in his arms the loveliness which has long faded from the world. Not this. Not at all. I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.
Page 284 - Stephen began to enumerate glibly his father's attributes. —A medical student, an oarsman, a tenor, an amateur actor, a shouting politician, a small landlord, a small investor, a drinker, a good fellow, a storyteller, somebody's secretary, something in a distillery, a tax-gatherer, a bankrupt and at present a praiser of his own past.