“A friend came to visit James Joyce one day and found the great man sprawled across his writing desk in a posture of utter despair.James, what’s wrong?' the friend asked. 'Is it the work?'Joyce indicated assent without even raising his head to look at his friend. Of course it was the work; isn’t it always?How many words did you get today?' the friend pursued.Joyce (still in despair, still sprawled facedown on his desk): 'Seven.'Seven? But James… that’s good, at least for you.'Yes,' Joyce said, finally looking up. 'I suppose it is… but I don’t know what order they go in!”

“Chuck Norris doesn't need to understand the work of James Joyce; James Joyce needs to understand the work of Chuck Norris.”

“I've been working hard on [Ulysses] all day," said Joyce. Does that mean that you have written a great deal?" I said. Two sentences," said Joyce. I looked sideways but Joyce was not smiling. I thought of [French novelist Gustave] Flaubert. "You've been seeking the mot juste?" I said. No," said Joyce. "I have the words already. What I am seeking is the perfect order of words in the sentence.”

“I have a very dear friend, a great painter, called me up very upset, the work wasn’t going well… He asked me to come to his studio -- which I did -- I looked around at the work, dozens of sketches, drawings, large pictures, and I was very close to his work, intensely involved with his work, and he asked me, ‘What’s wrong?’ And I said, ‘Simple – it’s a loss of nerve.”

“[James] Joyce... an essentially private man who wished his total indifference to public notice to be universally recognized....”

“James Joyce married a woman named Nora Barnacle. She once said to him, ‘Why don’t you write books people can read?”