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Joyce, James, 1882-1941

"A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"


--Didn't I tell you he was a smiler? said Temple, turning right and
left. Didn't I give him that name?
--You did. We're not deaf, said the tall consumptive.
Cranly still frowned at the stout student below him. Then, with a snort
of disgust, he shoved him violently down the steps.
--Go away from here, he said rudely. Go away, you stinkpot. And you are a
stinkpot.
Goggins skipped down on to the gravel and at once returned to his place
with good humour. Temple turned back to Stephen and asked:
--Do you believe in the law of heredity?
--Are you drunk or what are you or what are you trying to say? asked
Cranly, facing round on him with an expression of wonder.
--The most profound sentence ever written, Temple said with
enthusiasm, is the sentence at the end of the zoology. Reproduction is
the beginning of death.
He touched Stephen timidly at the elbow and said eagerly:
--Do you feel how profound that is because you are a poet?
Cranly pointed his long forefinger.
--Look at him! he said with scorn to the others. Look at Ireland's hope!
They laughed at his words and gesture. Temple turned on him bravely,
saying:
--Cranly, you're always sneering at me. I can see that. But I am as
good as you any day.


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