tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9148557807474310110.post4946514450045144253..comments2022-07-19T07:48:28.683-04:00Comments on Belle, Book, and Candle: First LinesBellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04335523622158333456noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9148557807474310110.post-44566005506281059062013-01-31T21:57:21.633-05:002013-01-31T21:57:21.633-05:00What a great first line and what a delightful memo...What a great first line and what a delightful memory for you Tullik. The only Joyce I have read is 'Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man'. That was many years ago. I would quote the first line but the book is gone.Bellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04335523622158333456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9148557807474310110.post-36520783594187929922013-01-31T21:47:42.594-05:002013-01-31T21:47:42.594-05:00"Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the s..."Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed."<br />I had the pleasure and privilege of hearings these lines read aloud, while sitting at the top of the Martello Tower in Sandycove Dublin the morning (beautiful as it was) of the 100th anniversary of the setting of Ulysses by James Joyce, Bloomsday June 16th 2004. For decades I was intimidated by the book thinking it was too difficult, now I read all or some of it each year in June and recall with fondness that wonderful morning. Tullikhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10524256855855014534noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9148557807474310110.post-13670845961658015562013-01-29T19:27:38.973-05:002013-01-29T19:27:38.973-05:00Love it! Thanks for adding it to the page.Love it! Thanks for adding it to the page.Bellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04335523622158333456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9148557807474310110.post-6298020368245504402013-01-29T18:56:16.791-05:002013-01-29T18:56:16.791-05:00The book I am reading begins: "Someone once t...The book I am reading begins: "Someone once told me that in France alone, a quarter of million letters are delivered every year to the dead" (The second sentence completes Chapter 1: "What she didn't tell me is that sometimes the dead write back."<br /><br />Peaches for Tather Francis by Joanne HarrisAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com