1 They crossed the weedy garden together.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 2 Rain was falling on the chapel, on the garden, on the college.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 3 He passed out of the schoolhouse and halted under the shed that flanked the garden.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 4 But no vision of trim front gardens or of kindly lights in the windows poured a tender influence upon him now.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 5 The peace of the gardens and the kindly lights in the windows poured a tender influence into his restless heart.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 6 He left the stage quickly and rid himself of his mummery and passed out through the chapel into the college garden.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 7 The faint Sour stink of rotted cabbages came towards him from the kitchen gardens on the rising ground above the river.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 4 8 They passed back through the garden and out through the hall where the doddering porter was pinning up a hall notice in the frame.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 9 The furniture had been hustled out through the front garden which was strewn with wisps of straw and rope ends and into the huge vans at the gate.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 10 Uncle Charles smoked such black twist that at last his nephew suggested to him to enjoy his morning smoke in a little outhouse at the end of the garden.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 11 Outside Blackrock, on the road that led to the mountains, stood a small whitewashed house in the garden of which grew many rosebushes: and in this house, he told himself, another Mercedes lived.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 12 He mounted the steps from the garden in haste, eager that some prey should not elude him, and forced his way through the crowd in the hall and past the two jesuits who stood watching the exodus and bowing and shaking hands with the visitors.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 13 SIMILITER ATQUE SENIS BACULUS, he was, as the founder would have had him, like a staff in an old man's hand, to be leaned on in the road at nightfall or in stress of weather, to lie with a lady's nosegay on a garden seat, to be raised in menace.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 14 He saw again the small white house and the garden of rose-bushes on the road that led to the mountains and he remembered the sadly proud gesture of refusal which he was to make there, standing with her in the moonlit garden after years of estrangement and adventure.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 15 The vastness and strangeness of the life suggested to him by the bales of merchandise stocked along the walls or swung aloft out of the holds of steamers wakened again in him the unrest which had sent him wandering in the evening from garden to garden in search of Mercedes.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 16 The gang made forays into the gardens of old maids or went down to the castle and fought a battle on the shaggy weed-grown rocks, coming home after it weary stragglers with the stale odours of the foreshore in their nostrils and the rank oils of the seawrack upon their hands and in their hair.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 17 His arbour, as he called the reeking outhouse which he shared with the cat and the garden tools, served him also as a sounding-box: and every morning he hummed contentedly one of his favourite songs: O, TWINE ME A BOWER or BLUE EYES AND GOLDEN HAIR or THE GROVES OF BLARNEY while the grey and blue coils of smoke rose slowly from his pipe and vanished in the pure air.
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