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The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.
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
Common
Brief
Sense
Cracks
Death
Tells
Two
Eternity
Eternities
Light
Rocks
Existentialism
Darkness
Cradle
Dying
Crack
Existence
Abyss
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
...and the red sun of desire and decision (the two things that create a live world) rose higher and higher, while upon a succession of balconies a succession of libertines, sparkling glass in hand, toasted the bliss of past and future nights.
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Genius still means to me, in my Russian fastidiousness and pride of phrase, a unique dazzling gift. The gift of James Joyce, and not the talent of Henry James.
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All religions are based on obsolete terminology.
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In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.
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A creative writer must study carefully the works of his rivals, including the Almighty. He must possess the inborn capacity not only of recombining but of re-creating the given world. In order to do this adequately, avoiding duplication of labor, the artist should know the given world.
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A writer should have the precision of a poet and the imagination of a scientist.
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I adore you, mon petit, and would never allow him to hurt you, no matter how gently or madly.
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My answer to your question'Does the writer have a social responsibility?' is NO.You owe me ten cents, sir.
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Although I could never get used to the constant state of anxiety in which the guilty, the great, and the tenderhearted live, I felt I was doing my best in the way of mimicry.
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The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car.
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...in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.
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I think it is all a matter of love.
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You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.
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Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.
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A good laugh is the best pesticide.
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Derivative writers seem versatile because they imitate many others, past and present. Artistic originality has only itself to copy.
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...All my best words are deserters and do not answer the trumpet call, and the remainder are cripples.
Vladimir Nabokov
All colors made me happy: even gray. My eyes were such that literally they Took photographs.
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I was weeping again, drunk on the impossible past.
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But in my arms she was always Lolita.
Vladimir Nabokov
