1 A spirit filled him, pure as the purest water, sweet as dew, moving as music.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 2 He lay still, as if his soul lay amid cool waters, conscious of faint sweet music.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 3 This furious music allayed his dread and, leaning against the windowledge, he let his eyelids close again.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 4 They were men in dark blue and silver; they had silvery whistles and their keys made a quick music: click, click: click, click.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 5 When it fell to him to read the lesson towards the close of the office he read it in a veiled voice, lulling his conscience to its music.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 6 The vast cycle of starry life bore his weary mind outward to its verge and inward to its centre, a distant music accompanying him outward and inward.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 7 His unrest issued from him like a wave of sound: and on the tide of flowing music the ark was journeying, trailing her cables of lanterns in her wake.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 8 A sudden burst of music issued from the ark, the prelude of a waltz: and when the side door closed again the listener could hear the faint rhythm of the music.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 9 The soft beauty of the Latin word touched with an enchanting touch the dark of the evening, with a touch fainter and more persuading than the touch of music or of a woman's hand.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 10 Yes, it was her body he smelt, a wild and languid smell, the tepid limbs over which his music had flowed desirously and the secret soft linen upon which her flesh distilled odour and a dew.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 11 He spoke the verses aloud from the first lines till the music and rhythm suffused his mind, turning it to quiet indulgence; then copied them painfully to feel them the better by seeing them; then lay back on his bolster.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 12 The music passed in an instant, as the first bars of sudden music always did, over the fantastic fabrics of his mind, dissolving them painlessly and noiselessly as a sudden wave dissolves the sand-built turrets of children.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 4 13 It seemed to him that he heard notes of fitful music leaping upwards a tone and downwards a diminished fourth, upwards a tone and downwards a major third, like triple-branching flames leaping fitfully, flame after flame, out of a midnight wood.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 4 14 He heard a confused music within him as of memories and names which he was almost conscious of but could not capture even for an instant; then the music seemed to recede, to recede, to recede, and from each receding trail of nebulous music there fell always one longdrawn calling note, piercing like a star the dusk of silence.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 4 15 His mind, in the vesture of a doubting monk, stood often in shadow under the windows of that age, to hear the grave and mocking music of the lutenists or the frank laughter of waist-coateers until a laugh too low, a phrase, tarnished by time, of chambering and false honour stung his monkish pride and drove him on from his lurking-place.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 16 The mirth, which in the beginning of the evening had seemed to him false and trivial, was like a soothing air to him, passing gaily by his senses, hiding from other eyes the feverish agitation of his blood while through the circling of the dancers and amid the music and laughter her glance travelled to his corner, flattering, taunting, searching, exciting his heart.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 17 His prayer, addressed neither to God nor saint, began with a shiver, as the chilly morning breeze crept through the chink of the carriage door to his feet, and ended in a trail of foolish words which he made to fit the insistent rhythm of the train; and silently, at intervals of four seconds, the telegraph-poles held the galloping notes of the music between punctual bars.
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