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I am surrounded by some sort of wretched specters, not by people. They torment me as can torment only senseless visions, bad dreams, dregs of delirium, the drivel of nightmares and everything that passes down here for real 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
Everything
Wretched
Specters
Real
Surrounded
Drivel
Life
Passes
Dregs
People
Nightmare
Delirium
Dreams
Senseless
Vision
Nightmares
Sort
Visions
Dream
Torment
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Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.
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Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.
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I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist.
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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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Life is a message scribbled in the dark.
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No author has created with less emphasis such pathetic characters as Chekhov has.
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Genius is an African who dreams up snow.
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But that mimosa grove-the haze of stars, the tingle, the flame, the honey-dew, and the ache remained with me, and that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since-until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.
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