No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
Meaning of the quote
This quote by Irish novelist James Joyce is describing a situation where someone is unable to write. The person has no writing tools like a pen or ink, no desk or quiet space to work, no time or motivation to write. It's a list of all the things that are missing, which prevents the person from being able to write anything.
About James Joyce
James Joyce was an acclaimed Irish novelist, poet, and literary critic who is considered one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. He is best known for his groundbreaking novel Ulysses, which parallels Homer’s Odyssey in a variety of literary styles, particularly stream of consciousness. Joyce’s other notable works include the short story collection Dubliners and the novels A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Finnegans Wake.
More quotes from James Joyce
A nation is the same people living in the same place.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
A man’s errors are his portals of discovery.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Nations have their ego, just like individuals.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Your battles inspired me – not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother’s love is not.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Ireland sober is Ireland stiff.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Men are governed by lines of intellect – women: by curves of emotion.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Irresponsibility is part of the pleasure of all art; it is the part the schools cannot recognize.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Well and what’s cheese? Corpse of milk.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
I fear those big words which make us so unhappy.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
When I die Dublin will be written in my heart.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of you.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, is honored by posterity because he was the last to discover America.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
I think a child should be allowed to take his father’s or mother’s name at will on coming of age. Paternity is a legal fiction.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Love between man and man is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Think you’re escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
He found in the world without as actual what was in his world within as possible.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Satan, really, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a moment.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
The actions of men are the best interpreters of their thoughts.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Mistakes are the portals of discovery.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what’s cheese? Corpse of milk.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of insuring one’s immortality.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
Irish novelist and poet (1882-1941)