"- Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a chair." (U9.773)
Ora Pro Nobis in Latin = Pray for us.
"There he keened a wailing rune.
- Pogue mahone! Acushla machree! It's destroyed we are from this day! It's destroyed we are surely!
All smiled their smiles." (U9.774)
"- Saint Thomas, Stephen, smiling, said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the original, writing of inc/est from a standpoint different from that of the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in his wise and curious way to an avarice of the emotions. He means that the love so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it may be, hungers for it. Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are of all races the most given to intermarriage." (U9.778)
"Accusations are made in anger. The christian laws which built up the hoards of the jews (for whom, as for the lollards, storm was shelter) bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet." (U9.784)
"But a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his wife. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his wife or his manservant or his maidservant or his jackass.
- Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned." (U9.788)
"- She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, the mobbed queen, even though you prove that a bed in those days was as rare as a motorcar is now" (U9.800)
"as rare as a motorcar is now" (U9.801)
In 1903, when the Gordon Bennett race took place in Athy (Co. Kildare), there were 250 motorcars in Ireland. Many of those who came to watch the race had possibly never seen a car before.
"and that its carvings were the wonder of seven parishes." (U9.802)
"Falstaff was not a family man. I feel that the fat knight is his supreme creation.
Lean, he lay back. Shy, deny thy kindred, the unco guid. Shy, supping with the godless, he sneaks the cup. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. Visits him here on quarter days. Mr Magee, sir, there's a gentleman to see you. Me? Says he's your father, sir. Give me my Wordsworth. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in strossers with a buttoned codpiece, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a wand of wilding in his hand.
Your own? He knows your old fellow. The widower." (U9.815)
"Give me my Wordsworth. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in strossers with a buttoned codpiece, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a wand of wilding in his hand.
Your own? He knows your old fellow. The widower." (U9.820)
"Hurrying to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the quayside I touched his hand. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. The eyes that wish me well. But do not know me." (U9.825)
"Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On that mystery and not on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void." (U9.837)
"Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood. Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be the only true thing in life." (U9.842)
"Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son?
What the hell are you driving at?
I know. Shut up. Blast you! I have reasons.
Amplius. Adhuc. Iterum. Postea.
Are you condemned to do this?" (U9.844)
"In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it." (9.858)
"- What links them in nature? An instant of blind rut.
Am I father? If I were?
Shrunken uncertain hand." (U9.859)