"Molly in Citron's basketchair. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the hand, lift it to the nostrils and smell the perfume. Like that, heavy, sweet, wild perfume. Always the same, year after year. They fetched high prices too, Moisel told me. Arbutus Place: Pleasants street: pleasant old times. Must be without a flaw, he said. Coming all that way: Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the Levant." (U7.206)
"Crates lined up on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of. How do you? Doesn't see. Chap you know just to salute bit of a bore. His back is like that Norwegian captain's. Wonder if I'll meet him today. Watering cart. To provoke the rain." (U4.212)
"On earth as it is in heaven.
A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly. Grey. Far.
No, not like that." (U4.217)
"A barren land, bare waste." (U4.219)
"Vulcanic lake, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind could lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it raining down: the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race." (U4.219)
"Got up wrong side of the bed. Must begin again those Sandow's exercises. On the hands down. Blotchy brown brick houses. Number eighty still unlet. Why is that? Valuation is only twentyeight. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills. Plasters on a sore eye." (U4.233)
"To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near her ample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes." (U4.237)
"Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley Road, swiftly" (U4.240)
"in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, a girl with gold hair on the wind." (U4.240)
"She was reading the card, propped on her elbow.
- She got the things, she said.
He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a snug sigh.
- Hurry up with that tea, she said. I'm parched." (U4.259)
"— The kettle is boiling, he said.
But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed.
As he went down the kitchen stairs she called:
— Poldy!
— What?
— Scald the teapot.
On the boil sure enough: a plume of steam from the spout." (U4.264)
"Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the page and over. Thanks: new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylan's seaside girls.
The tea was drawn. He filled his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. Silly Milly's birthday gift." (U4.280)
"Only five she was then. No wait: four. I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke." (U4.284)
"Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the letterbox for her. He smiled, pouring.

O, Milly Bloom, you are my darling.
You are my looking glass from night to morning.
I'd rather have you without a farthing
Than Katey Keogh with her ass and garden.

Poor old professor Goodwin. Dreadful old case. Still he was a courteous old chap. Oldfashioned way he used to bow Molly off the platform. And the little mirror in his silk hat. The night Milly brought it into the parlour. O, look what I found in professor Goodwin's hat! All we laughed." (U4.285)
"Sex breaking out even then. Pert little piece she was.
He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over: then fitted the teapot on the tray. Its hump bumped as he took it up. Everything on it? Bread and butter, four, sugar, spoon, her cream. Yes. He carried it upstairs, his thumb hooked in the teapot handle.
Nudging the door open with his knee he carried the tray in and set it on the chair by the bedhead.
- What a time you were! she said." (U4.295)
"- What are you singing?
- Là ci darem with J. C. Doyle, she said, and Love's Old Sweet Song." ([U4.313])