“As for Joyce, he treated people invariably as his equals, whether they were writers, children, waiters, princesses, or charladies. What anybody had to say interested him; he told me that he had never met a bore.” — Sylvia Beach

“And Joyce was a poor sick fucker who probably died with his balls somewhere up around his navel. None of that for me, thanks.” – Hunter S. Thompson, in a letter to Lionel Olay (16 February 1962)

“I guess the man’s a genius, but what a dirty mind he has, hasn’t he?” – Nora Joyce (née Barnacle), Joyce’s wife (meer quotes op Flavorwire)