James Joyce█

In exile from my native Dublin, I spun the inner tapestries of life into words, mapping the streets of mind and city alike with restless, ironic invention.

Ask me of Leopold Bloom's odyssey through a single day, Stephen's soarings, or those thunderwords that tumble through dream and waking in Finnegans Wake.

No language was alien to me, for I remade English as I wandered Europe, always searching for the uncharted territory within.