Count the hemisemidemicolons!
“See the signs of suspicion! Count the hemisemidemicolons! Screamer caps and invented gommas, quoites puntlost, forced to farce! The pipette will say anything at all for a change.”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism
“Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there caoculates through the inconoscope stealdily a still, the figure of a fellowchap in the wohly ghast, Popey O’Donoshough, the jesuneral of the russuates.”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
a jade louistone
“What I would like is a jade louistone to go with the moon’s increscent.”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
the pink of punk perfection
“And it’s time that all paid tribute to this massive mortiality, the pink of punk perfection as photography in mud.”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
Prettimaid tints
“Prettimaid tints may try their taunts: apple, bacchante, custard, dove, eskimo, feldgrau, hematite, isingglass, jet, kipper, lucile, mimosa, nut, oysterette, prune, quasimodo, royal, sago, tango, umber, vanilla, wisteria, xray, yesplease, zaza, philomel, theerose. What are they all by?”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
Anna Livia Plurabelle
A collideorscape!
“. . . what roserude and oragious grows gelb and greem, blue out of the ind of it! Violet’s dyed! . . .
Answer: A collideorscape!”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
golden silence gives consent
“Let me finish! Just a little judas tonic, my ghem of all jokes, to make you go green in the gazer. Do you hear what I’m seeing, hammet? And remember that golden silence gives consent, Mr Ankelgazer!”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
green, cheese and tangerine
“ . . . with a scrumptious cocked hat and three green, cheese and tangerine trinity plumes on the right handle side of his amarellous head. . . .”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.
the gleam of the glow of the shine of the sun
“. . . the gleam of the glow of the shine of the sun through the dearth of the dirth on the blush of the brick of the viled ville of Barnehulme has dust turned to brown; . . .”
—James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939.