Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money.
Folding the page into his pocket he turned into Eccles street, hurrying homeward.
Sweny’s in Lincoln place. Chemists rarely move. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir.
In Westland row he halted before the window of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets
She’s in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She’s three days bad now.
Get a light snack in Davy Byrne’s. Stopgap. Keep me going. Had a good breakfast.
Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses.
Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy’s head by Miss Douce’s head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.
…the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes
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