Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 4
Wherefore let it hardly by any being thinking be said either or thought that the prisoner of that sacred edifice, were he an Ivor the Boneless or an Olaf the Hide, was at his best a onestone par- able, a rude breathing on the void of to be, a venter hearing his own bauchspeech in backwords, or, more strictly, but tristurned initials, the cluekey to a worldroom beyond the roomwhorld, for scarce one, or pathetically few of his dode canal sammenlivers cared seriously or for long to doubt with Kurt Iuld van Dijke (the gravitational pull perceived by certain fixed residents and the capture of uncertain comets chancedrifting through our sys- tem suggesting an authenticitatem of his aliquitudinis) the canoni- city of his existence as a tesseract. Be still, O quick! Speak him dumb! Hush ye fronds of Ulma!