There is nothing so deceptive and for all that so alluring as a good surface. The sea, when beheld in the warm sunlight of a summer’s day; the sky, blue in the faint and amber glimmer of an Autumn sun, are pleasing to the eye: but, how different the scene, when the wild anger of the elements has waked again the discord of Confusion, how different the ocean, choking with froth & foam, to the calm, placid sea, that glanced and rippled merrily in the sun.
This was written by a teenage James Joyce. His great biographer, Richard Ellman, writes:
The example may give heart to adolescents who are searching their own works for evidence of literary immortality, and not finding much.