"in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland, an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen, so long as it didn't come down," (U16.552)
"and in the wilds of Donegal, where if report spoke true, the coup d'oeil was exceedingly grand, though the lastnamed locality was not easily getatable so that the influx of visitors was not as yet all that it might be considering the signal benefits to be derived from it," (U16.554)
"though it had its own toll of deaths by falling off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the way, on their left leg, it being only about three quarters of an hour's run from the pillar." (U6.561)
"Because of course uptodate tourist travelling was as yet merely in its infancy, so to speak, and the accommodation left much to be desired. Interesting to fathom, it seemed to him, from a motive of curiosity pure and simple, was whether it was the traffic that created the route or viceversa or the two sides in fact. He turned back the other side of the card, picture, and passed it along to Stephen." (U16.563)
"- I seen a Chinese one time, related the doughty narrator, that had little pills like putty and he put them in the water and they opened, and every pill was something different. One was a ship, another was a house, another was a flower. Cooks rats in your soup, he appetisingly added, the Chinese does.
Possibly perceiving an expression of dubiosity on their faces, the globetrotter went on, adhering to his adventures." (U16.570)
"That was why they thought the park murders of the invincibles was done by foreigners on account of them using knives." (U16.590)

On May 6th 1882, Thomas Henry Burke (Permanent Under Secretary for Ireland) and Lord Frederick Cavendish (newly appointed Chief Secretary for Ireland) were murdered in Phoenix Park by members of the Invincibles, a radical Irish nationalist secret society. Cavendish had just arrived in Ireland, and the two men were on their way to the Viceregal Lodge. The killers used surgical knives: rather than stabbed, the victims were slashed with long cuts all over their body. Dr. Thomas Myles, surgeon at the nearby Steevens's Hospital, was summoned -to no avail- for medical assistance to the victims.
"At this remark, passed obviously in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss," (U16.593)
"Mr B. and Stephen, each in his own particular way, both instinctively exchanged meaning glances, in a religious silence of the strictly entre nous variety however, towards where Skin-the-Goat, alias the keeper, not turning a hair, was drawing spurts of liquid from his boiler affair." (U16.594)
"His inscrutable face, which was really a work of art, a perfect study in itself, beggaring description, conveyed the impression that he didn't understand one jot of what was going on. Funny very!" (U16.597)
"- Have you seen the Rock of Gibraltar? Mr Bloom inquired.
The sailor grimaced, chewing, in a way that might be read as yes, ay, or no." (U16.611)
"- Ah, you've touched there too, Mr Bloom said, Europa point" (U16.614)
"On more than one occasion, a dozen at the lowest, near the North Bull at Dollymount he had remarked a superannuated old salt, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the not particularly redolent sea on the wall, staring quite obliviously at it" (U16.629)
"when duty called Ireland expects that every man and so on, and sometimes had a terrible time of it in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish lights, Kish and others," (U16.648)
"liable to capsize at any moment rounding which he once with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not to say stormy, weather." (U16.650)
"There's my son now, Danny, run off to sea and his mother got him took in a draper's in Cork where he could be drawing easy money.
- What age is he? queried one hearer who, by the way, seen from the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the townclerk, away from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course and in a seedy getup and a strong suspicion of nosepaint about the nasal appendage.
- Why, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled utterance, my son, Danny? He'd be about eighteen now, way I figure it." (U16.657)
"The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or unclean anyhow shirt with his two hands and scratched away at his chest on which was to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink, intended to represent an anchor.
- There was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater, he remarked. Sure as nuts. I must get a wash tomorrow or next day. It's them black lads I objects to. I hate those buggers. Sucks your blood dry, they does." (U16.666)
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