Remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive. Remembered ones dress up for the occasion and sit still. Memory is a photo-studio de… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
It is a singular reaction, this sitting still and writing, writing, writing, or ruminating at length, which is much the same, really. — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise--a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames--but still a paradise. — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
Genius still means to me, in my Russian fastidiousness and pride of phrase, a unique dazzling gift. The gift of James Joyce,… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
Freudism and all it has tainted with its grotesque implications and methods, appear to me to be one of the vilest deceits… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
I looked and looked at her, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved her… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
...that swimming, sloping, elusive something about the dark-bluish tint of the iris which seemed still to retain the shadows it had absorbed… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
But as Van casually directed the searchlight of backthought into that maze of the past where the mirror-lined narrow paths not only… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
“...under no circumstances would he [Humbert Humbert] have interfered with the innocence of a child, if there was the least risk of a row.” — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
“Ami azt illeti, Vannak kezdtek nagyon tetszeni a fák is, a csodák is meg az Adák is.” — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless. — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
“It isn’t possible. I cannot imagine it. Come on over here, you foolish little doe, and tell me on what day I shall die.” — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
“Precautions to be taken in the case Of freak reincarnation: what to do On suddenly discovering that you Are now a young and vulnerable… — Vladimir Nabokov Copy Share Image
