“ and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood. ”
His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.
~ James Joyce
You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.
Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?
Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.
