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In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.
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
Flowed
Rainbow
Blood
Heart
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Who can say what heartbreaks are caused in a dog by our discontinuing a romp?
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And I want to rise up, throw my arms open for a vast embrace, address an ample, luminous discourse to the invisible crowds. I would start like this: O rainbow-colored gods. . .
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Devices which in some curious new way imitate nature are attractive to simple minds.
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Mnemosyne, one must admit, has shown herself to be a very careless girl.
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Poetry involves the mysteries of the irrational perceived through rational words.
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At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.
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There he stood, in the camouflage of sun and shade, disfigured by them and masked by his own nakedness.
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Even while writing his book, he had become painfully aware how little he knew his own planet while attempting to piece together another one from jagged bits filched from deranged brains.
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I need you, the reader, to imagine us, for we don't really exist if you don't.
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Beauty plus pity-that is the closest we can get to a definition of art. Where there is beauty there is pity for the simple reason that beauty must die: beauty always dies, the manner dies with the matter, the world dies with the individual.
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Old birds like Orlovius are wonderfully easy to lead by the beak, because a combination of decency and sentimentality is exactly equal to being a fool.
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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.
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There was no Lo to behold.
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Burn pedants in pale fire. Accept no fashions. Be your own fashion. Do not rely on earlier triumphs. Be new at each appearance.
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I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.
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Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
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As to the rest, I am no more guilty of imitating 'real life' than'real life' is responsible for plagiarizing me.
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Solitude is the playfield of Satan.
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A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.
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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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