Twattering of bards in the twitterlitter

Finnegans Wake has to be read out loud to be enjoyed fully. Listen, for example, to Joyce's eloquence regarding Twitter...

[1:2 37.17] in his secondmouth language as many of the bigtimer's verbaten
words which he could balbly call to memory that same kveldeve,
ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between
Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea, when suppertide and souvenir to
Charlatan Mall jointly kem gently and along the quiet darkenings

[1:4 95.31] whosebefore and his whereafters and how she was lost away
away in the fern and how he was founded deap on deep in anear,
and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the
snappings and the sighings and the paintings and the ukukuings
and the (hist!) the springapartings and the (hast!) the


[1:6 193.14] Anklegazer! Cease to be civil, learn to say nay! Whisht! Come
here, Herr Studiosus, till I tell you a wig in your ear. We'll do a
whisper drive, for if the barishnyas got a twitter of it they'd tell
the housetops and then all Cadbury would go crackers. Look!
Do you see your dial in the rockingglass? Look well ! Bend down

[4:15 600.23] soreen seen for loveseat, as we know that should she, for by
essentience his law, so it make all. It is scainted to Vitalba. And
her little white bloomkins, twittersky trimmed, are hobdoblins'
hankypanks. Saxenslyke our anscessers thought so darely on
now they're going soever to Anglesen, free of juties, dyrt chapes.