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Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don't stop to think, don't interrupt the scream, exhale, release life's rapture.
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
Crowds
Exhale
Release
Greeting
Stop
Greetings
Think
Interrupt
Thinking
Howl
Life
Rapture
Like
Scream
Gladiator
Crowd
Unfettered
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Only ambitious nonentities and hearty mediocrities exhibit their rough drafts. It's like passing around samples of sputum.
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It is hard, I submit, to loathe bloodshed, including war, more than I do, but it is still harder to exceed my loathing of the very nature of totalitarian states in which massacre is only an administrative detail.
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The only real number is one, the rest are mere repetition
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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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There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.
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All my stories are webs of style and none seems at first blush to contain much kinetic matter.
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For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me.
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You know, what's so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own.
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I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais!
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The future is but the obsolete in reverse.
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Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés.
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I always call him Lewis Carroll Carroll, because he was the first Humbert Humbert.
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Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.
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Which arrow flies for ever? The arrow that has hit its mark.
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The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.
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My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.
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Art at its greatest is fantastically deceitful and complex.
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My God died young. Theolatry i found Degrading, and its premises, unsound. No free man needs God but was I free?
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