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There he stood, in the camouflage of sun and shade, disfigured by them and masked by his own nakedness.

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
Disfigured
Masked
Nakedness
Camouflage
Shade
Stood
Sun

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It is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.
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We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.
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I always call him Lewis Carroll Carroll, because he was the first Humbert Humbert.
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Beauty plus pity -- that is the closest we can get to a definition of art.
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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.
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You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.
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The future is but the obsolete in reverse.
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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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Pnin slowly walked under solemn pines. The sky was dying. He did not believe in an autocratic God. He did believe, dimly, in a democracy of ghosts. The souls of the dead, perhaps, formed committees, and these, in continuous session, attended the destinies of the quick.
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Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.
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a person hoping to become a poet must have the capacity of thinking of several things at a time.
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There was a time in my demented youth When somehow I suspected that the truth About survival after death was known To every human being: I alone Knew nothing, and a great conspiracy Of books and people hid the truth from me.
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The thought, when written down, becomes less oppressive, but some thoughts are like a cancerous tumor: you express is, you excise it, and it grows back worse than before.
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for better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word.
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Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.
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I was also supposed to quiz my various companions on a number of important matters such as nostalgia, fear of unknown animals, food fantasies, nocturnal emissions, hobbies, choice of radio program, changes in out look and so forth.
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I know more than I can express in words, and the little I can express would not have been expressed, had I not known more.
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A philistine is a full-grown person whose interests are of a material and commonplace nature, and whose mentality is formed of the stock ideas and conventional ideals of his or her group and time.
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Just like a man grieving because he has recently lost in his dreams some thing that he had never had in reality, or hoping that tomorrow he would dream that he found it again. That is how mathematics is created it has its fatal flaw.
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