A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Part III: Falling In Love)

Here's a few favorite quotes from A Portrait of the artist as a Young Man. There are so many more I didn't include, but I couldn't put them all on here because a) it would take forever to type, b) I don't really want to ruin the book for anybody, but I do want some quotes available if you think you'd be into it and c) I'm probably crossing some legal lines here. I hope the copyright police don't come after me.

• "But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could."
• "He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place."
• "The scalding water burst forth from his eyes and, burning with shame and agony and fear, he drew back his shaking arm in terror and burst out into a whine of pain. His body shook with a palsy of fright and in shame and rage he felt the scalding cry come from his throat and the scalding tears falling out of his eyes and down his flaming cheeks."
• "But when he had sung his song and withdrawn into a snug corner of the room he began to taste the joy of his loneliness."
• "He saw clearly too his own futile isolation. He had not gone one step nearer the lives he had sought to approach nor bridged the restless shame and rancour that divided him from mother and brother and sister. He felt that he was hardly of the one blood with them but stood to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, fosterchild and foster brother."
• "By day and by night he moved among distorted images of the outer world."
• "... and the cry that he had strangled for so long in his throat issued from his lips. It broke from him like a wail of despair from a hell of sufferers and died in a wail of furious entreaty, a cry for an iniquitous abandonment, a cry which was but the echo of an obscene scrawl which he read on the oozing wall of a urinal."
• "The words of doom cried by the angel shattered in an instant his presumptuous peace. The wind of the last day blew through his mind; his sins, the jeweleyed harlots of his imagination, fled before the hurricane, squeaking like mice in their terror and huddled under a main of hair."
• "His flesh shrank together as if it felt the approach of the ravenous tongues of flames, dried up as it felt about it the swirl of stifling air. He had died. Yes. He was judged. A wave of his brain began to glow. Another. His brain was simmering and bubbling within the cracking tenement of the skull. Flames burst forth from his skull like a corolla, shrieking little voices: Hell!"
• "One soul was lost; a tiny soul: his. It flickered once and went out, forgotten, lost. The end: black cold void waste."
• "His blood began to murmur in his veins, murmuring like a sinful city summoned from its sleep to hear its doom. Little flakes of fire fell and powdery ashes fell softly, alighting on the houses of men. They stirred, waking from sleep, troubled by the heated air."
• "His sins trickled from his lips, one by one, trickled in shameful drops from his soul festering and oozing like a sore, a squalid stream of vice. The last sins oozed forth, sluggish, filthy. There was no more to tell. He bowed his head, overcome."