Quote

Ada girl, adored girl, [...] I'm a radiant void. I'm convalescing after a long and dreadful illness. You cried over my unseemly scar, but now life is going to be nothing but love and laughter, and corn in cans. I cannot brood over broken hearts, mine is too recently mended.

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
Cannot
Void
Cans
Nothing
Illness
Adored
Heart
Laughter
Dreadful
Going
Hearts
Radiant
Long
Mines
Corn
Ada
Love
Mine
Scar
Unseemly
Life
Broken
Recently
Mended
Girl
Cried
Brood

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By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast.
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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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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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Some might think that the creativity, imagination, and flights of fancy that give my life meaning are insanity.
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I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.
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The rich philistinism emanating from advertisements is due not to their exaggerating (or inventing) the glory of this or that serviceable article but to suggesting that the acme of human happiness is purchasable and that its purchase somehow ennobles the purchaser.
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I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.
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Memory overshadows the present and dims the future into something thicker than its usual pea soup.
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And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.
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I see nothing for the treatment of my misery but the melancholy and very local palliative of articulate art.
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We all have such fateful objects -- it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another -- carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John always stumble there shall Jane's heart always break.
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Let all of life be an unfettered howl.
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To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue.
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Resemblances are the shadows of differences. Different people see different similarities and similar differences.
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I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise--a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames--but still a paradise.
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You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.
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There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.
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I think my favorite fact about myself is that I have never been dismayed by a critic's bilge or bile, and have never once in my life asked or thanked a reviewer for a review.
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