A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.
The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.
I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.
We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame.
— James Joyce 'Ulysses'
