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My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.

Vladimir Nabokov

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Vladimir Nabokov
Age: 77 †
Born: 1899
Born: January 1
Died: 1977
Died: January 1
Autobiographer
Chess Composer
Chess Player
Journalist
Lepidopterist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
St. Petersburg
Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov
Vladimir Sirin
Vl. Sirin
Wladimir Nabokoff-Sirin
V. Sirin
Stupid
Simple
Music
Loathing
Soft
Oppression
Cruelty
Stupidity
Crime

More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov

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Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
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Oh, my Lolita, I have only words to play with!
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Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.
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There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.
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Which arrow flies for ever? The arrow that has hit its mark.
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My God died young. Theolatry i found Degrading, and its premises, unsound. No free man needs God but was I free?
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Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing... I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius.
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My Carmen, I said (I used to call her that sometimes) we shall leave this raw sore town as soon as you get out of bed. ... Because, really, I continued, there is no point in staying here. There is no point in staying anywhere, said Lolita.
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The spiral is a spiritualized circle. In the spiral form, the circle, uncoiled, has ceased to be vicious it has been set free.
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Imagination, the supreme delight of the immortal and the immature, should be limited. In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much.
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Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
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Words without experience are meaningless.
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For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me.
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Life is a message scribbled in the dark.
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Only talent interests me in paintings and books. Not general ideas, but the individual contribution.
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All religions are based on obsolete terminology.
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The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.
Vladimir Nabokov
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If he was silent I could be silent too. Indeed, I could very well do with a little rest in this subdued, frightened-to-death rocking chair, before I drove to wherever the beast's lair was - and then pulled the pistol's foreskin back, and then enjoyed the orgasm of the crushed trigger.
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Treading the soil of the moon, palpating its pebbles, tasting the panic and splendor of the event, feeling in the pit of one's stomach the separation from Terra-these form the most romantic sensation an explorer has ever known . . . this is the only thing I can say about the matter. The utilitarian results do not interest me.
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I should allow only my heart to have imagination and for the rest rely on memory, that long drawn sunset of one's personal truth.
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