FITNESS in Classic Quotes

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Quotes from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
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 Current Search - fitness in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
1  Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and laughter.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 1
2  When the fit had spent itself he walked weakly to the window and, lifting the sash, sat in a corner of the embrasure and leaned his elbow upon the sill.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 3
3  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 Man By James Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 5
4  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 Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 4
5  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 Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 4
6  Just as every sense is afflicted with a fitting torment, so is every spiritual faculty; the fancy with horrible images, the sensitive faculty with alternate longing and rage, the mind and understanding with an interior darkness more terrible even than the exterior darkness which reigns in that dreadful prison.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 3
7  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.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James Joyce
ContextHighlight   In Chapter 2