Quote

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.

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
Littles
Frightened
Pistols
Back
Beast
Trigger
Little
Wherever
Drove
Wells
Enjoyed
Triggers
Orgasm
Well
Indeed
Crushed
Lair
Silent
Pulled
Pistol
Rest
Chair
Subdued
Death
Chairs
Rocking

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My only grudge against nature was that I could not turn my Lolita inside out and apply voracious lips to her young matrix, her unknown heart, her nacreous liver, the sea-grapes of her lungs, her comely twin kidneys.
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Adultery is a most conventional way to rise above the conventional.
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I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita.
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Mnemosyne, one must admit, has shown herself to be a very careless girl.
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For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.
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Life with you was lovely—and when I say lovely, I mean doves and lilies, and velvet, and that soft pink ‘v’ in the middle and the way your tongue curved up to the long, lingering ‘l.’ Our life together was alliterative, and when I think of all the little things which will die, now that we cannot share them, I feel as if we were dead too.
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Her lips were like large crimson polyps.
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Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don't stop to think, don't interrupt the scream, exhale, release life's rapture.
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Dostoevky's lack of taste, his monotonous dealings with persons suffering with pre-Freudian complexes, the way he has of wallowing in the tragic misadventures of human dignity - all this is difficult to admire.
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Devices which in some curious new way imitate nature are attractive to simple minds.
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while the scientist sees everything that happens in one point of space, the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time.
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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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The tiny madman in his padded cell.
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You lose your immortality when you lose your memory.
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There is an old American saying 'He who lives in a glass house should not try to kill two birds with one stone.
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The square root of I is I.
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His wings were failing, but he refused to fall without a struggle.
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Don't touch me I'll die if you touch me.
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A major writer combines these three - storyteller, teacher, enchanter - but it is the enchanter in him that predominates and makes him a major writer.
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