Page 300 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

—What is offered me on the other hand? Stephen asked.
An eternity of bliss in the company of the dean of studies?
—Remember, Cranly said, that he would be glorified.
—Ay, Stephen said somewhat bitterly, bright, agile, im-
passible and, above all, subtle.
—It is a curious thing, do you know, Cranly said dispas-
sionately, how your mind is supersaturated with the religion
in which you say you disbelieve. Did you believe in it when
you were at school? I bet you did.
—I did, Stephen answered.
—And were you happier then? Cranly asked softly, hap-
pier than you are now, for instance?
—Often happy, Stephen said, and often unhappy. I was
someone else then.
—How someone else? What do you mean by that state-
ment?
—I mean, said Stephen, that I was not myself as I am
now, as I had to become.
—Not as you are now, not as you had to become, Cran-
ly repeated. Let me ask you a question. Do you love your
mother?
Stephen shook his head slowly.
—I don’t know what your words mean, he said simply.
—Have you never loved anyone? Cranly asked.
—Do you mean women?
—I am not speaking of that, Cranly said in a colder tone.
I ask you if you ever felt love towards anyone or anything?
Stephen walked on beside his friend, staring gloomily at
the footpath.

300 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man