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Current Search - wings in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
1 He watched their flight; bird after bird: a dark flash, a swerve, a flutter of wings.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 5
2 And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 5
3 Now, at the name of the fabulous artificer, he seemed to hear the noise of dim waves and to see a winged form flying above the waves and slowly climbing the air.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 4
4 On Saturday mornings when the sodality met in the chapel to recite the little office his place was a cushioned kneeling-desk at the right of the altar from which he led his wing of boys through the responses.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 3
5 When the enamelled basin had been fitted into the well of the sink and the old washing glove flung on the side of it he allowed his mother to scrub his neck and root into the folds of his ears and into the interstices at the wings of his nose.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 5
6 For one rare moment he seemed to be clothed in the real apparel of boyhood: and, as he stood in the wings among the other players, he shared the common mirth amid which the drop scene was hauled upwards by two able-bodied priests with violent jerks and all awry.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 2
7 The hollow rattle of the wooden dumbbells was heard as another team made ready to go up on the stage: and in another moment the excited prefect was hustling the boys through the vestry like a flock of geese, flapping the wings of his soutane nervously and crying to the laggards to make haste.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 2
8 A sense of fear of the unknown moved in the heart of his weariness, a fear of symbols and portents, of the hawk-like man whose name he bore soaring out of his captivity on osier-woven wings, of Thoth, the god of writers, writing with a reed upon a tablet and bearing on his narrow ibis head the cusped moon.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManBy James Joyce ContextHighlight In Chapter 5