"Ward for incurables there. Very encouraging. Our Lady's Hospice for the dying. Deadhouse handy underneath. Where old Mrs Riordan died. They look terrible the women. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the spoon. Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Nice young student that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. He's gone over to the lying-in hospital they told me. From one extreme to the other." (U6.376)
"The carriage galloped round a corner: stopped.
— What's wrong now?
A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their clotted bony croups. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear.
— Emigrants, Mr Power said.
— Huuuh! the drover's voice cried, his switch sounding on their flanks. Huuuh! out of that!
hursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day. Springers. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. For Liverpool probably." (U6.383)
"Roast beef for old England. They buy up all the juicy ones. And then the fifth quarter is lost: all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in a year. Dead meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the train at Clonsilla." (U6.394)
"The carriage moved on through the drove.
— I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the parkgate to the quays, Mr Bloom said. All those animals could be taken in trucks down to the boats.
— Instead of blocking up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham said. Quite right. They ought to.
— Yes, Mr Bloom said, and another thing I often thought, is to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Run the line out to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all. Don't you see what I mean?" (U6.399)
"- And, Martin Cunningham said, we wouldn't have scenes like that when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin onto the road.
- That was terrible, Mr Power's shocked face said, and the corpse fell about the road. Terrible!
- First round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Gordon Bennett cup.
- Praises be to God! Martin Cunningham said piously. " (U6.415)
"Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what's up now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all." (U6.421)
"In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. An empty hearse trotted by, coming from the cemetery: looks relieved." (U6.436)
"Crossguns bridge: the royal canal.
Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood on his dropping barge between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock a slacktethered horse. Aboard of the Bugabu.
Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Athlone," (U6.438)
"Mullingar, Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. water." (U6.444)
"Or cycle down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day at the auction but a lady's. Developing waterways. James M'Cann's hobby to row me o'er the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats. Camping out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will without writing. Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin." (U6.445)
"With turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted his brown straw hat, saluting Paddy Dignam." (U6.451)
"They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. Near it now.
- I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Power said.
- Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said.
- How is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him weeping, I suppose?
- Though lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory dear.
The carriage steered left for Finglas road." (U6.453)

(Image courtesy of the ZJJF)
"The stonecutter's yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief, pointing. Fragments of shapes, hewn. In white silence: appealing. The best obtainable. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor.
Passed." (U6.459)
"The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Dark poplars, rare white forms." (U6.486)
"Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the air." U6.487)
"The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his knee." (U6.490)