Quotation from: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Written by: James Joyce


O, the wild rose blossoms
On the little green place.


He sang that song. That was his song.


O, the green wothe botheth.


When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother put
on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.


His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on the piano
the sailor's hornpipe for him to dance. He danced:

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