The National Museum, in Ulysses

Pages 266-267, Lestrygonians

Mr Bloom came to Kildare Street. First I must.
Library.
Straw hat in sunlight. Tan shoes. Turnedup trousers.
It is. It is.
His heart quopped softly. To the right. Museum.
Goddesses. He swerved to the right.
Is it? Almost certain. Won't look. Wine in my face.
Why did I? Too heady. Yes, it is. The walk. Not see
Not see. Get on.
making for the museum gate with long windy strides
he lifted his eyes. handsome building. Sir Thomas
Deane designed. Not following me?
Didn't see me perhaps. Light in his eyes
The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs.
Quick. Cold statues: quiet there. Safe in a minute.
No, didn't see me. After two. Just at the gate.
My heart!
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of
stone. Sir Thomas Deane was the Greek architecture.
Look for something. I.
His hasty hand went into a pocket, took out,
read unfolded Agendath Netaim. Where did I?
Busy looking for.
He thrust back quickly Agendath.
Afternoon she said.
I am looking for that. Yes, that. Try all pockets.
Handker. Freeman. Where did I? Ah, yes. Trousers.
Purse. Potato. Where did I?
Hurry. Walk quietly. Moment more. My heart.
His hand looking for the where did I put found in his
hip pocket soap lotion have to call tepid paper stuck.
Ah, soap there! Yes. Gate.
Safe!

Pages 840-841, Eumaeus

It's in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once. All are washed in the blood of the sun.
Coincidence, I just happened to be in the Kildare street Museum today, shortly prior to
our meeting, if I can so call it, and I was just looking at those antique
statues there. The splendid proportions of hips, bosom. You simply don't knock
against those kind of women here. An exception here and there. Handsome, yes,
pretty in a way you find, but what I'm talking about is the female form. Besides,
they have so little taste in dress, most of them,
which greatly enhances a woman's natural beauty, no matter what you say. Rumpled
stockings - it may be, possibly is, a foible of mine, but still it's a thing
I simply hate to see.

Pages 865-866, Eumaeus

Beside the young man he looked also at the photo of the lady now his legal wife who,
he intimated, was the accomplished daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an early
age remarkable proficiency as a singer having even made her bow to the public
when her years numbered barely sweet sixteen. As for the face, it was a speaking
likeness in expression but it did not do justice to her figure, which came
in for a lot of notice usually and which did not come out to the best advantage
in that getup She could without difficulty, he said, have posed for the ensemble,
not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the... He dwelt, being a bit of
an artist in his spare time, on the female form in general developmentally
because, as it so happened, no later than that afternoon, he had seen those
Grecian statues, perfectly developed as works of art, in the National Museum.
Marble could give the original, shoulders, back, all the symmetry. All the
rest, yes, Puritanism. It does though, St Joseph's sovereign... whereas no
photo could, because it simply wasn't art, in a word.

Page 256, Lestrygonians

His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the oaken slab. Beauty: it curves, curves are
beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires. Can see
them library museum standing in the round hall, naked goddesses. Aids to digestion.
They don't care what man looks. All to see.