“Rome reminds me of a man who lives by exhibiting to travellers his grandmother’s corpse.”
“I think people might be willing to pay for the special odour of corruption which, I hope, floats over my stories”
“It was the longest day I’ve heard of outside of Irish literature.”
I cannot enter the social order except as a vagabond.
He lived his spiritual life without any communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when they died. He performed these two social duties for old dignity’s sake but conceded nothing further to the conventions which regulate the civic life.
But oblige me by taking away that knife. I can’t look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history.
Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, a blunt hornhandled ordinary knife with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it to the lay eye, observing that the point was the least conspicuous point about it.
God made food; the devil the cooks.