I Desire To Press In My Arms

The Pleasures Of Love Lasts But A Fleeting But The Pledges Of Life Outlusts A Lieftime.

Her Lips Touched His Brain As They Touched His Lips, As Though They Were A Vehicle Of Some Vague Speech And Between Them He Felt An Unknown And Timid Preasure, Darker Than The Swoon Of Sin, Softer Than Sound Or Odor.

Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan Came From The Stairhead, Bearing A Bowl Of Lather On Which A Mirror And A Razor Lay Crossed. A Yellow Dressinggown, Ungirdled, Was Sustained Gently Behind Him By The Mild Morning Air. He Held The Bowl Aloft And Intoned: ----introibo Ad Altare Dei.

I Think I Would Know Nora's Fart Anywhere. I Think I Could Pick Hers Out In A Roomful Of Farting Women.

Sentimentality Is Unearned Emotion.