A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about. — F. Scott Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
“Throughout eternity our poor ghosts are exposed to nameless vicissitudes. There is no appeal, no advice, no support, no protection, nothing. Poor Kinbote's ghost, poor Shade's shade, may have blundered, may have taken the wrong turn somewhere—oh, from sheer absent-mindedness,… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
