Ulysses/Hades - Revision history

Unknown user: /* References */

2022-02-16T23:20:58Z

References

← Older revision		Revision as of 23:20, 16 February 2022
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	=References=		=References=

	Modernism wiki (Yale): http://modernism.research.yale.edu/wiki/index.php/%22Hades%22		Modernism wiki (Yale): <s>http://modernism.research.yale.edu/wiki/index.php/%22Hades%22</s>
			* updated link: https://modernism.courseresource.yale.edu/category/james-joyce/

	Sparknotes: http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/ulysses/section6.rhtml		Sparknotes: http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/ulysses/section6.rhtml

Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T01:04:16Z

Quotes

← Older revision		Revision as of 01:04, 11 February 2022
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	—That’s a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it has not died out.		—That’s a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it has not died out.
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			All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers. Respect. The carriage swerved from the tramtrack to the smoother road past Watery lane. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in mourning, a wide hat.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T01:03:55Z

Quotes

← Older revision		Revision as of 01:03, 11 February 2022
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	Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creaking carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in after him, curving his height with care.		Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creaking carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in after him, curving his height with care.
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	—There’s a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said.		All waited. Nothing was said. Stowing in the wreaths probably. I am sitting on something hard. Ah, that soap: in my hip pocket. Better shift it out of that. Wait for an opportunity.

			All waited. Then wheels were heard from in front, turning: then nearer: then horses’ hoofs. A jolt. Their carriage began to move, creaking and swaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar. At walking pace.
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			They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and were passing along the tramtracks. Tritonville road. Quicker. The wheels rattled rolling over the cobbled causeway and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the doorframes.

			—What way is he taking us? Mr Power asked through both windows.

			—Irishtown, Martin Cunningham said. Ringsend. Brunswick street.

			Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out.

			—That’s a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it has not died out.
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			—There’s a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said.

	—Who is that?		—Who is that?
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	—The weather is changing, he said quietly.		—The weather is changing, he said quietly.

	—A pity it did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said.		—A pity it did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said.
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	The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his beard.		The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his beard.

	—Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said. And Paddy Leonard taking him off to his face.		—Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said. And Paddy Leonard taking him off to his face.
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	—They tell the story, he said, that two drunks came out here one foggy evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for Mulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing about in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of the drunks spelt out the name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up.		—They tell the story, he said, that two drunks came out here one foggy evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for Mulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing about in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of the drunks spelt out the name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up.

	The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. He resumed:		The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. He resumed:
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	Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop!		Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop!

	He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait. There he goes.		He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait. There he goes.

Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:53:55Z

Quotes

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	=Quotes=		=Quotes=

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			Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creaking carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in after him, curving his height with care.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:53:28Z

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	An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the pebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. The grey alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good hidingplace for treasure.		An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the pebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. The grey alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good hidingplace for treasure.
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			Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably.

			—Excuse me, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them.

			They stopped.

			—Your hat is a little crushed, Mr Bloom said pointing.

			John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving.

			—There, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also.

			John Henry Menton took off his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his coatsleeve. He clapped the hat on his head again.

			—It’s all right now, Martin Cunningham said.

			John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment.

			—Thank you, he said shortly.

			They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few paces so as not to overhear. Martin laying down the law. Martin could wind a sappyhead like that round his little finger, without his seeing it.

			Oyster eyes. Never mind. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him. Get the pull over him that way.

			Thank you. How grand we are this morning!
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:52:51Z

Quotes

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	Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over.		Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over.
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			Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop!

			He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait. There he goes.

			An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the pebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. The grey alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good hidingplace for treasure.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:51:12Z

Quotes

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	But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simply swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little seaside gurls.		But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simply swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little seaside gurls.
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			The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. And if he was alive all the time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of course. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag of distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as soon as you are sure there’s no.
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			—And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow was over there in the...

			He looked around.

			—Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now?

			—M’Intosh, Hynes said scribbling. I don’t know who he is. Is that his name?

			He moved away, looking about him.

			—No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes!

			Didn’t hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good Lord, what became of him?

			A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade.

			—O, excuse me!

			He stepped aside nimbly.

			Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:49:01Z

Quotes

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	White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the Rotunda corner, galloping. A tiny coffin flashed by. In a hurry to bury. A mourning coach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors. Dun for a nun.		White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the Rotunda corner, galloping. A tiny coffin flashed by. In a hurry to bury. A mourning coach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors. Dun for a nun.

	—Sad, Martin Cunningham said. A child.		—Sad, Martin Cunningham said. A child.
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	The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Rattle his bones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns.		The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Rattle his bones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns.

	—In the midst of life, Martin Cunningham said.		—In the midst of life, Martin Cunningham said.
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	Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what’s up now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all.		Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what’s up now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all.
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	~~rms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the air.~~

	The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus followed.		The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus followed.

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	The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy’s bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you were before you rested. It’s all written down: he has to do it.		The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy’s bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you were before you rested. It’s all written down: he has to do it.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:48:14Z

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← Older revision		Revision as of 00:48, 11 February 2022
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	Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he walked.		Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he walked.
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			I daresay the soil would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. Charnelhouses. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rot quick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowy kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them. Then dried up. Deathmoths. Of course the cells or whatever they are go on living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing to feed on feed on themselves.

			But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simply swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little seaside gurls.
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Unknown user: /* Quotes */

2022-02-11T00:47:25Z

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   The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy’s bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you were before you rested. It’s all written down: he has to do it.
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