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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.

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
Feels
Time
Sees
Scientist
Poet
Space
Point
Happens
Everything

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A toothache will cost a battle, a drizzle cancel an insurrection.
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Maybe the only thing that hints at a sense of Time is rhythm not the recurrent beats of the rhythm but the gap between two such beats, the gray gap between black beats: the Tender Interval.
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I am not, and never was, and never could have been, a brutal scoundrel.
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The only real number is one, the rest are mere repetition
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Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for.
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I don't want an elderly gentleman from Vienna with an umbrella inflicting his dreams upon me.
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It is a singular reaction, this sitting still and writing, writing, writing, or ruminating at length, which is much the same, really.
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There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.
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The compensation for a death sentence is the knowledge of the exact hour when one is to die. A great luxury, but one that is well earned.
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I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze I cannot get out, said the starling
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Imagination without knowledge leads no farther than the back yard of primitive art, the child's scrawl on the fence, and the crank's message in the market place. Art is never simple.
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It is a short walk from the hallelujah to the hoot.
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I confess, I do not believe in time.
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Don't cry, I'm sorry to have deceived you so much, but that's how life is.
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Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
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My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.
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I witness with pleasure the supreme achievement of memory, which is the masterly use it makes of innate harmonies when gathering to its fold the suspended and wandering tonalities of the past.
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Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés.
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I don't belong to any club or group. I don't fish, cook, dance, endorse books, sign books, co-sign declarations, eat oysters, get drunk, go to church, go to analysts, or take part in demonstrations.
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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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