Desígnio Inteligente

(Joyce phone home)

«They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the silted sand. Like me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the other's gamppoked in the beach. From the liberties, out for the day. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable ofall flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your Omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one.»

- Ulysses

(Ninguém deve precisar de desculpas cronológicas para reler um naco de prosa assim ["trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool", ufa...], mas no dia 2 de Fevereiro de 1882, James Joyce era Criado [ex nihilo] no subúrbio Dublinense de Rathgar.)