James Joyce Was Addicted to Farts

So, I'm looking up info on my FAVOURITE author, Honoré de Balzac (we share the same birthday, by the way) who was apparently addicted to coffee. He was a man's man. If he was too impatient to wait to brew his coffee, he'd just eat it. Yep. Chew. Right on the beans. Sometimes, if he was poor, he'd eat the grounds. Coffee killed him, in fact. Terrible ulcers. Anyways, so I'm getting the scoop (hehe) and I come across an article about Strange Author Addictions. Not only was Charles Dickens addicted to morgues, but James Joyce, apparently, couldn't get enough of tooting.

"Although they didn’t really diagnose sex addiction at the time, I bet if James Joyce was around today he would be classified as one. He wrote hundreds of letters to his lover, Nora (who later became his wife), and spared no expense in the detail of what he wanted the two of them to do when they were together again. But oddly, he seemed to be most obsessed with her farts. It’s a repeated theme in his letters - here’s one example: “I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have.”

I gotta say: I really didn't see that one coming.