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Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
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
Bed
Among
Knowing
Reading
Read
Book
Something
Pleasurable
Good
Sensations
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.
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do what only a true artist can do ... pounce upon the forgotten butterfly of revelation
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Adultery is a most conventional way to rise above the conventional.
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How small the cosmos (a kangaroo's pouch would hold it), how paltry and puny in comparison to human consciousness, to a single individual recollection, and its expression in words!
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Another tormentor inquired if it was true that I had installed two ping-pong tables in my basement. I asked, was it a crime? No, he said, but why two? Is that a crime? I countered, and they all laughed.
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Why do those people guess so much and shave so little, and are so disdainful of hearing aids?
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A sense of security, of well-being, of summer warmth pervades my memory. That robust reality makes a ghost of the present. The mirror brims with brightness a bumblebee has entered the room and bumps against the ceiling. Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die.
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The commentator may be excused for repeating what he has stressed in his own books and lectures, namely that offensive is frequently but a synonym for unusual and a great work of art is of course always original, and thus by its very nature should come more or less as a shocking surprise.
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Dear Jesus, do something.
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And presently I was driving through the drizzle of the dying day, with the windshield wipers in full action but unable to cope with my tears.
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Our best yesterdays are now foul piles of crumpled names.
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Oh, my Lolita, I have only words to play with!
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And yet I adore him. I think he's quite crazy, and with no place or occupation in life, and far from happy, and philosophically irresponsible – and there is absolutely nobody like him.
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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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All great novels are great fairy tales.
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There is only one real number: one. And love, apparently, is the best exponent of this singularity.
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I am probably responsible for the odd fact that people don't seem to name their daughters Lolita any more. I have heard of young female poodles being given that name since 1956, but of no human beings.
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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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Ideas in modern Russia are machine-cut blocks coming in solid colors the nuance is outlawed, the interval walled up, the curve grossly stepped.
Vladimir Nabokov
In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.
Vladimir Nabokov