I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. —Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)
In those years, that marvelous mess of constellations, nebulae, interstellar gaps and all the rest of the awesome show provoked in me an indescribable sense of nausea, of utter panic, as if I were hanging from earth upside down on the brink of infinite space, with terrestrial gravity still holding me by the heels but… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words. — Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight.… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
It’s tempting, emptiness. — Vladimir Nabokov, The Original of Laura. (Knopf; 1 edition November 17, 2009) Published posthumously despite the authors request to have the work destroyed.
Let all of life be an unfettered howl. ― Vladimir Nabokov, from “Gods,” The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov. (Knopf 24 October 1995)
When I try to analyze my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov
Oh, but she had been so pretty in the weaving of those delicate spells, in the dreamy performance of her enchantments… — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. (Olympia Press 1955)