A gaspel truce leaks out over the caeseine coatings.
Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there caoculates
through the inconoscope stealdily a still, the figure of a
fellowchap in the wohly ghast, Popey O'Donoshough, the jesuneral
of the russuates. --James Joyce, FW. Pg. 349
Never slip the silver key through your gate of golden age. Collide with man,
collude with money. Ere you sail foreget my prize. Where you
truss be circumspicious and look before you leak, dears. --James Joyce, FW. Pg. 433.
-- Blondman's blaff! Like a skib leaked lintel the arbour
leidend with . . .? --James Joyce, FW, g. 508
Old yeasterloaves may be a stale as a stub and the pitcher go to aftoms on the
wall. Mildew, murk, leak and yarn now want the bad that they
lied on. --James Joyce, FW, pg 598.
And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy
leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me
letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. --James Joyce, FW, 627.
And may he be too an intrepidation of our dreams which we foregot at wiking when the mom
hath razed out limpalove and the bleakfrost chilled our ravery! Pook. Sing ching lew mang! --JJ, FW, pg. 338
Ann alive, the lisp of her, 'twould grig mountains whisper
her, and the bergs of Iceland melt in waves of fire. -James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, pg. 139.