he walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the baths. remind you of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the minarets. college sports today i see. he eyed the horseshoe poster over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like a cod in a pot. damn bad ad. now if they had made it round like a wheel. then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and the hub big: college. something to catch the eye.
there's hornblower standing at the porter's lodge. keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the nod. how do you do, mr hornblower? how do you do, sir?
heavenly weather really. if life was always like that. cricket weather. sit around under sunshades. over after over. out. they can't play it here. duck for six wickets. still captain buller broke a window in the kildare street club with a slog to square leg. donnybrook fair more in their line. and the skulls we were acracking when m'carthy took the floor. heatwave. won't last. always passing, the stream of life, which in the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all.
enjoy a bath now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the gentle tepid stream. this is my body.
he foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. he saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
hades
martin cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creaking carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. mr power stepped in after him, curving his height with care.
-- come on, simon.
-- after you, mr bloom said.
mr dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying:
-- yes, yes.
-- are we all here now? martin cunningham asked. come along, bloom.
mr bloom entered and sat in the vacant place. he pulled the door to after him and slammed it tight till it shut tight. he passed an arm through the armstrap and looked seriously from the open carriage window at the lowered blinds of the avenue. one dragged aside: an old woman peeping. nose whiteflattened against the pane. thanking her stars she was passed over. extraordinary the interest they take in a corpse. glad to see us go we give them such trouble coming. job seems to suit them. huggermugger in corners. slop about in slipper-slappers for fear he'd wake. then getting it ready. laying it out. molly and mrs fleming making the bed. pull it more to your side. our windingsheet. never know who will touch you dead. wash and shampoo. i believe they clip the nails and the hair. keep a bit in an envelope. grow all the same after. unclean job.