A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
He knelt before the altar with his classmates, holding the altar cloth with them over a living rail of hands. His hands were trembling and his soul trembled as he heard the priest pass with the ciborium from communicant to communicant.
Corpus Domini nostri
Could it be? He knelt there sinless and timid; and he would hold upon his tongue the host and God would enter his purified body.
In vitam eternam. Amen
Another life! A life of grace and virtue and happiness! It was true. It was not a dream from which he would wake. The past was past.
Corpus Domini nostri.
The ciborium had come to him.
His life seemed to have drawn near to eternity; every thought, word, and deed, every instance of consciousness could be made to revibrate radiantly in heaven; and at times his sense of such immediate repercussion was so lively that he seemed to feel his soul in devotion pressing like fingers the keyboard of a great cash register and to see the amount of his purchase start forth immediately in heaven, not as a number but as a frail column of incense or as a slender flower. (4.1.4)
– Then, said Cranly, you do not intend to become a protestant?
– I said that I had lost the faith, Stephen answered, but not that I had lost self-respect. What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent? (5.3.100)