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He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.
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
Broke
Merely
Heart
Life
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Why should I tolerate a perfect stranger at the bedside of my mind?
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A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual, and only the individual reader is important to me. I don't give a damn for the group, the community, the masses, and so forth.
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The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.
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Solitude was corrupting me.
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To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue.
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Dark pictures, thrones, the stones that pilgrims kiss Poems that take a thousand years to die But ape the immortality of this Red label on a little butterfly .
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for better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word.
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Imagine me I shall not exist if you do not imagine me try to discern the doe in me, trembling in the forest of my own iniquity let's even smile a little. After all, there is no harm in smiling.
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A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.
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I was the shadow of the waxwing slain/By the false azure in the windowpane.
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Non-Russian readers do not realize two things: that not all Russians love Dostoievsky as much as Americans do, and that most of those Russians who do, venerate him as a mystic and not as an artist.
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Freudism and all it has tainted with its grotesque implications and methods, appear to me to be one of the vilest deceits practiced by people on themselves and on others. I reject it utterly, along with a few other medieval items still adored by the ignorant, the conventional, or the very sick.
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I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.
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Oh, my Lolita, I have only words to play with!
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I don't think in any language. I think in images.
Vladimir Nabokov
Mnemosyne, one must admit, has shown herself to be a very careless girl.
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All colors made me happy: even gray. My eyes were such that literally they Took photographs.
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The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.
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Genius is finding the invisible link between things.
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I am not, and never was, and never could have been, a brutal scoundrel.
Vladimir Nabokov
