The square root of I is I. Vladimir Nabokov More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov More Quotes From Vladimir Nabokov In this crazy mirror of terror and art a pseudo-quotation made up of obscure Shakespeareanisms (Chapter Three) somehow produces, despite its lack of literal meaning, the blurred diminutive image of the acrobatic performance that so gloriously supplies the bravura ending for the next chapter. Vladimir Nabokov crazy mirrors art I think she always nursed a small mad hope. Vladimir Nabokov mad nurse thinking Above all, beware of platitudes, i.e., word combinations that have already appeared a thousand times.... As a general rule, try to find new combinations of words (not for the sake of their novelty, but because every person sees things in an individual way and must find his own words for them). Vladimir Nabokov sake trying way Memory overshadows the present and dims the future "into something thicker than its usual pea soup." Vladimir Nabokov soup usual memories It is strange how a memory will grow into a wax figure, how the cherub grows suspiciously prettier as its frame darkens with age-strange, strange are the mishaps of memory. Vladimir Nabokov strange age memories Another tormentor inquired if it was true that I had installed two ping-pong tables in my basement. I asked, was it a crime? No, he said, but why two? Is that a crime? I countered, and they all laughed. Vladimir Nabokov ping-pong mentor two Complacency is a state of mind that exists only in retrospective: it has to be shattered before being ascertained. Vladimir Nabokov complacency states mind All great novels are great fairy tales. Vladimir Nabokov tales fairy-tale novel I think it is all a matter of love. Vladimir Nabokov matter love thinking My answer to your question'Does the writer have a social responsibility?' is NO.You owe me ten cents, sir. Vladimir Nabokov responsibility answers doe The tiny madman in his padded cell. Vladimir Nabokov tiny cells baby The pleasures of writing correspond exactly to the pleasures of reading Vladimir Nabokov pleasure reading writing If he failed the first time he took his driver's licence test, it was mainly because he started an argument with the examiner in an ill-timed effort to prove that nothing could be more humiliating to a rational creature than being required to encourage the development of a base conditional reflex by stopping at a red light when there was not an earthly soul around, heeled or wheeled. He was more circumspect the next time, and passed. Vladimir Nabokov effort light soul There are gentle souls who would pronounce Lolita meaningless because it does not teach them anything. I am neither a reader nor a writer of didactic fiction...For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm. Vladimir Nabokov soul kindness art We hasten to alienate the very fates we intended to woo. Vladimir Nabokov fate My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ. Vladimir Nabokov hysterical organs heart 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 angel art thinking By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast. Vladimir Nabokov grapefruit breakfast We all have such fateful objects -- it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another -- carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John always stumble; there shall Jane's heart always break. Vladimir Nabokov events heart numbers but that mimosa grove - the haze of stars, the tingle, the flame, the honey-dew, and the ache remained with me, and that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since." "this then is my story. i have reread it. it has bits of marrow sticking to it, and blood, and beautiful bright-green flies. at this or that twist of it i feel my slippery self eluding me, gliding into deeper and darker waters than i care to probe. Vladimir Nabokov girl stars beautiful
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