Those were old worldish days, loyal times in joyous townlands, old times in the evening, the porkbutcher's, Father Conmee smiled and walked along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of surpassing beauty, spread indolently in the harbor toward distant regions where the ripples sparkled beneath an unknown sun, and…
tags: Ulysses (novel) | James Joyce | 1922 | automatically generated text | Patrick Mooney | Wandering Rocks | H.P. Lovecraft | weird fiction | horror | American authors | 20th century | modernist authors | H.P. Lovecraft | Celephaïs | 1920