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In Poems: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot
Let us go and make our visit. . . .
In Prose: Chapter 5, James Joyce
—We shall call it riding a hack to spare the hunter, said Dixon. . . .
In Prose: Chapter 6, Ernest Hemingway
“Listen to him. I’m going to England. I’m going to visit friends. Ever visit friends that didn’t want you? Oh, they’ll have to take me, all right. ‘How do you do, my dear? Such a long time since we’ve seen you. And how is your dear mot . . .
In Drama: Act V, George Bernard Shaw
HIGGINS. Oh, after your last visit I remember making some silly joke of the kind. . . .
In Prose: Part Two, Ford Madox Ford
I find, on looking at my diaries, that on the 4th of September, 1904, Edward accompanied Florence and myself to Paris, where we put him up till the twenty-first of that month. He made another short visit to us in December of that year—the firs . . .
In Drama: Cathleen Ni Houlihan, William Butler Yeats
I thought I heard the noise I used to hear when my friends came to visit me. [She begins singing half to herself.] . . .
In Prose: Ithaca, James Joyce
The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering): intestinal congestion and premeditative defecation (holy of holies): the bath (rite of John): the funeral (rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim and Thummim): the unsubstantial lun . . .
In Prose: Hades, James Joyce
—I am come to pay you another visit. . . .
In Prose: Henry James, Ezra Pound
Let us grant at once that his novels show him, all through his life, possessed of the worst possible taste in pictures, of an almost unpunctured ignorance of painting, of almost as great a lack of taste as that which he attributes to the hack-work a . . .
In Prose: Chapter 1, James Joyce
VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, O LORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVE AWAY FROM IT ALL... . . .
In Prose: Chapter 1, James Joyce
VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, O LORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVE . . .
In Prose: Telemachus, James Joyce
— That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your national library today. . . .
In Prose: Part Three, Ford Madox Ford
The mere expenditure upon sending one of the girls over from Ireland to Branshaw was terrifying to them; and whichever girl they selected might not be the one to ring Edward’s bell. On the other hand, the expenditure upon mere food and extra sheet . . .
In Prose: Part Three, Ford Madox Ford
“Teddy, don’t you think you could take a night off from your doctor’s orders and go with Nancy to the Casino. The poor child has had her visit so spoiled.” . . .
In Prose: A Study in French Poets, Ezra Pound
The story or incident in "Visite" is that of a man stirring himself out of his evening comfort to visit some pathetic dull friends. . . .
In Prose: Chapter 6, Ernest Hemingway
“Yes, that’s the way it’s done in the very best families. Robert’s sending me. He’s going to give me two hundred pounds and then I’m going to visit friends. Won’t it be lovely? The friends don’t know about it, yet.” . . .
In Prose: Circe, James Joyce
(Looks behind.) She often said she’d like to visit. Slumming. The exotic, you see. Negro servants in livery too if she had money. Othello black brute. Eugene Stratton. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies. Bohee brothers. Sweep . . .
In Prose: A Study in French Poets, Ezra Pound
The troubles of the Larribeau family, Larribeau and the bonne, the visit of the "Comtese de Pentacosa," who is also staved off with ten francs, are all worth quoting. The whole small town is "Spoon-Rivered" with equal verve. "Existences" was written . . .
In Prose: Scylla & Charbydis, James Joyce
— Well, in that case, he said, I don’t see why you should expect payment for it since you don’t believe it yourself. Dowden believes there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say no more. Herr Bleibtreu, the man Piper met in Berlin, who is work . . .
In Prose: Nausicaa, James Joyce
Madcap Ciss with her golliwog curls. You had to laugh at her sometimes. For instance when she asked you would you have some more Chinese tea and jaspberry ram and when she drew the jugs too and the men’s faces on her nails with red ink make you sp . . .
In Prose: Wandering Rocks, James Joyce
Father Conmee sat in a corner of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked with care in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a sixpence and five pennies chuted from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. Passing the ivy church he reflect . . .
In Prose: Chapter 2, James Joyce
On the way home uncle Charles would often pay a visit to the chapel and, as the font was above Stephen’s reach, the old man would dip his hand and then sprinkle the water briskly about Stephen’s clothes and on the floor of the porch. While he pr . . .
In Prose: Chapter 3, James Joyce
—HE ONCE HAD MEANT TO COME ON EARTH IN HEAVENLY GLORY BUT WE SINNED; AND THEN HE COULD NOT SAFELY VISIT US BUT WITH A SHROUDED MAJESTY AND A BEDIMMED RADIANCE FOR HE WAS GOD. SO HE CAME HIMSELF IN WEAKNESS NOT IN POWER AND HE SENT THEE, A CREATURE . . .
In Prose: The Sisters, James Joyce
In the evening my aunt took me with her to visit the house of mourning. It was after sunset; but the window-panes of the houses that looked to the west reflected the tawny gold of a great bank of clouds. Nannie received us in the hall; and, as it wo . . .
In Prose: Chapter 4, Ernest Hemingway
My head started to work. The old grievance. Well, it was a rotten way to be wounded and flying on a joke front like the Italian. In the Italian hospital we were going to form a society. It had a funny name in Italian. I wonder what became of the oth . . .
In Drama: Sequel: What Happened Afterwards, George Bernard Shaw
When Freddy paid a visit to Earlscourt (which he never did when he could possibly help it) to make the desolating announcement that he and his Eliza were thinking of blackening the Largelady scutcheon by opening a shop, he found the little household . . .
In Prose: Lotus-Eaters, James Joyce
He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all the time? Women enjoy it. Never tell you. But we. Excuse, miss, there’s a (whh!) just a (whh!) fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Glimpses of the moon. Annoyed if you . . .
In Prose: Nausicaa, James Joyce
Tired I feel now. Will I get up? O wait. Drained all the manhood out of me, little wretch. She kissed me. Never again. My youth. Only once it comes. Or hers. Take the train there tomorrow. No. Returning not the same. Like kids your second visit to a . . .
In Prose: Part Four, Ford Madox Ford
Yes, society must go on; it must breed, like rabbits. That is what we are here for. But then, I don’t like society—much. I am that absurd figure, an American millionaire, who has bought one of the ancient haunts of English peace. I sit here, . . .
In Prose: Eveline, James Joyce
She was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was very kind, manly, open-hearted. She was to go away with him by the night-boat to be his wife and to live with him in Buenos Ayres where he had a home waiting for her. How well she remembere . . .
In Prose: Eumaeus, James Joyce
He made tracks heavily, slowly, with a dumpy sort of a gait to the door, stepped heavily down the one step there was out of the shelter and bore due left. While he was in the act of getting his bearings, Mr Bloom, who noticed when he stood up that h . . .
In Prose: Chapter 2, James Joyce
He listened without sympathy to his father’s evocation of Cork and of scenes of his youth, a tale broken by sighs or draughts from his pocket flask whenever the image of some dead friend appeared in it or whenever the evoker remembered suddenly th . . .
In Prose: Chapter 4, James Joyce
He had no temptations to sin mortally. It surprised him however to find that at the end of his course of intricate piety and self-restraint he was so easily at the mercy of childish and unworthy imperfections. His prayers and fasts availed him littl . . .
In Prose: Chapter 2, James Joyce
—I wouldn’t, said Heron, damn me if I would. That’s no way to send for one of the senior boys. In a bake, indeed! I think it’s quite enough that you’re taking a part in his bally old play. This spirit of quarrelsome comradeship which he h . . .
In Prose: Chapter 2, James Joyce
—There’s a crack of the whip left in me yet, Stephen, old chap, said Mr Dedalus, poking at the dull fire with fierce energy. We’re not dead yet, sonny. No, by the Lord Jesus (God forgive me) not half dead. Dublin was a new and complex sensati . . .
In Prose: Oxen of the Sun, James Joyce
Francis was reminding Stephen of years before when they had been at school together in Conmee’s time. He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades, Pisistratus. Where were they now? Neither knew. You have spoken of the past and its phantoms, Stephen said. W . . .
In Prose: Episode 2, James Joyce
This Treacle Tom to whom reference has been made had been absent from his usual wild and woolly haunts in the land of counties capalleens for some time previous to that (he was, in fact, in the habit of frequenting common lodginghouses where he slep . . .