|
"How the head centre got away, authentic version. Got up as a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide." (U3.241) |
|
"the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the gone." (U3.251) |
|
"Tell Pat you saw me, won't you? I wanted to get poor Pat a job one time. Mon fils, soldier of France." (U3.256) |
|
"I taught him to sing. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Know that old lay? I taught Patrice that. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. Goes like this." (U3.257) |
|
"A shut door of a silent tower entombing their blind bodies, the panthersahib and his pointer. Call: no answer. He lifted his feet up from the suck and turned back by the mole of boulders. Take all, keep all. My soul walks with me, form of forms. So in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood." (U3.276) |
|
"Famine, plague and slaughters. Their blood is in me, their lusts my waves. I moved among them on the frozen Liffey, that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires." (U3.306)
One cannot help think of the 1916 rebellion, as in this PC showing ruins on the side of the Liffey. |
|
"The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back. Dog of my enemy. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Terribilia meditans. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. For that are you pining, the bark of their applause? Pretenders: live their lives." (U3.310)
|
|
"Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull." (U3.332) |
|
"Cocklepickers. They waded a little way in the water and, stooping, soused their bags and, lifting them again, waded out." (U3.342) |
|
"The melon he had he held against my face. Smiled: creamfruit smell. That was the rule, said. In. Come. Red carpet spread. You will see who." (U3.367) |
|
"Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is. Language no whit worse than his. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets.
Passing now. A side-eye at my Hamlet hat." (U3.385) |
|
"roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway." (U3.402) |
|
"The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the alphabet books you were going to write. Keen glance you gave her." (U3.426) |
|
"Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet." (3.492) |
|
"Gia. For the old hag with the yellow teeth." (U3.493) |