He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords. Dost love, Miriam? Dost love thy man?
- That may be too, Stephen said." (U9.446)
Why does he send to one who is a buonaroba, a bay where all men ride, a maid of honour with a scandalous girlhood, a lordling to woo for him?" (U9.450)
- The soul has been before stricken mortally, a poison poured in the porch of a sleeping ear. But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the life to come. The poisoning and the beast with two backs that urged it king Hamlet's ghost could not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator." (U9.466)
From Shakespeare's Cymbeline:
Imogen is princess of Britain, and the virtuous wife of the exiled Posthumus, whose praise of her moral purity incites Posthumus's acquaintance Iachimo to bet Postumus that he can seduce her. When he fails, Iachimo hides in her bedchamber and uncovers her body while she sleeps, observing details of a mole on her breast which he then describes to Posthumus as proof that he had slept with her. Posthumus plots to kill his wife, but the designated killer reveals the plot to Imogen and advises her to hide; she escapes to the woods dressed as a man...
- Amen! responded from the doorway.
Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?" (U9.476)
He lifts his hands. Veils fall. O, flowers! Bells with bells with bells aquiring." (U9.500)
— Haines missed you, he said. Did you meet him? He'll see you after at the D. B. C. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.
— I came through the museum, Buck Mulligan said. Was he here?" ([U9.512])
For a plump of pressmen. Humour wet and dry.
Wit. You would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in. Lineaments of gratified desire.
There be many mo. Take her for me. In pairing time. Jove, a cool ruttime send them. Yea, turtledove her." (U9.535)
- Telegram! he said. Wonderful inspiration! Telegram! A papal bull!" (U9.545)
- And we to be there, mavrone, and you to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way we to have our tongues out a yard long like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a pussful.
Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan bent down:" (U9.563)
- Murder you! he laughed.
Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. In words of words for words, palabras. Oisin with Patrick." (U9.573)
— .....in which everyone can find his own. So Mr Justice Madden in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms.... Yes? What is it?
— There's a gentleman here, sir, the attendant said, coming forward and offering a card. From the Freeman. He wants to see the files of the Kilkenny People for last year.
— Certainly, certainly, certainly. Is the gentleman......?
He took the eager card, glanced, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, creaked, asked:
— Is he......? O, there!
Brisk in a galliard he was off, out. In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in duty bound, most fair, most kind, most honest broadbrim.
— This gentleman? Freeman's Journal? Kilkenny People? To be sure. Good day, sir. Kilkenny.... We have certainly....
A patient silhouette waited, listening.
— All the leading provincial.... Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian. Last year..... Will you please... Evans, conduct this gentleman... If you just follow the atten.... Or, please allow me.... This way... Please, sir...." (U9.581)