The Dead Quotes.

1. "Why is it that words like these seem dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?"
- James Joyce, The Dead

2. "Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory."
- James Joyce, The Dead

3. "His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
- James Joyce, The Dead

4. "Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure."
- James Joyce, The Dead

5. "Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age."
- James Joyce, The Dead

6. "Like the tender fires of stars moments of their life together, that no one knew of or would ever know of, broke upon and illuminated his memory."
- James Joyce, The Dead

7. "For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul, or hers."
- James Joyce, The Dead

8. "He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter."
- James Joyce, The Dead

9. "In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?"
- James Joyce, The Dead

10. "He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
- James Joyce, The Dead

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