James Joyce Quotes

In the tight belly of the dead, Burrow with hungry head, And inlay maggots like a jewel.

Death was in every sell of his body. He gave off a faint, greenish steam of decay. Lee imagined he would glow in the dark.

Corpses are more fit to be thrown out than is dung.

I hate to say this, but I'll repeat it: After death, all we know that you do is stink.

Dead things should be buried and not eaten.

A man who has been dead for a week in a hot trailer looks more like a man than you would first expect.

Your words smell of corpses.

Cheese is milk's leap toward immortality.

Wherever it lies, under earth or over earth, the body will always rot.

And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

Cheeses crusty, got all musty, got damp on the stone of a peach,” I agreed. He looked blank, so I repeated it with proper emphasis. “ ChEEZ-zes crusty. Got Al -musty. Got DAMp on the StoneofapeaCH.

Nothing ever grows in this rotting old hole.

Age is of no importance unless you are a cheese.

His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum.

When I'm at craft services, I make the best-tasting, 10-layer meat and cheese sandwich with no bread.

Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.

I like eating pepperoni. I heat it up in the microwave and then I let it roast and then I eat it with cheese.

All the body wants to do biologically is decompose. Once you die, it's, 'Let me out here! I'm ready to shoot my atoms back into the universe!'

I need to have a cheesesteak.

Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese.

It's the decomposition that gets me. You spend your whole life looking after your body. And then you rot away.

To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.

Now, a corpse, poor thing, is an untouchable and the process of decay is, of all pieces of bad manners, the vulgarest imaginable. For a corpse is, by definition, a person absolutely devoid of savoir vivre.

Look at everything that exists, and observe that it is already in dissolution and in change, and as it were putrefaction or dispersion, or that everything is so constituted by nature as to die.

There is to me about this place a smell of rot, the smell of rot that ripe fruit makes. Nowhere, ever, have the hideous mechanics of birth and copulation and death -those monstrous upheavals of life that the Greeks call miasma, defilement- been so brutal or been painted up to look so pretty; have so many people put so much faith in lies and mutability and death death death.