Celebrate Bloomsday with graphic Ulysses

The novel's famous opening line: "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed."
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.
-Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

-You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I’m hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you ...
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:
-Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?
-Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on the sea.
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

–What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.
–No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I’m not equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fifty-five reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me first.
He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his primrose waistcoat:
–You couldn’t manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?
–It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a doll’s head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice ...
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

He held up a forefinger of warning ...
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry

He tugged swiftly at Stephen’s ashplant in farewell and, running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted ...
© Throwaway Horse/Robert Berry