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Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
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
Strange
Land
Strong
Nostalgia
Another
Reverse
Longing
Spring
Especially
Grew
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Happy is the novelist who manages to preserve an actual love letter that he received when he was young within a work of fiction, embedded in it like a clean bullet in flabby flesh and quite secure there, among spurious lives.
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And what is death, if not a face at peace - its artistic perfection.
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Usually I read several books at a time - old books, new books, fiction, nonfiction, verse, anything - and when the bedside heap of a dozen volumes or so has dwindled to two or three, which generally happens by the end of one week, I accumulate another pile.
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There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.
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a person hoping to become a poet must have the capacity of thinking of several things at a time.
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A novelist is, like all mortals, more fully at home on the surface of the present than in the ooze of the past.
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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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All religions are based on obsolete terminology.
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Non-Russian readers do not realize two things: that not all Russians love Dostoievsky as much as Americans do, and that most of those Russians who do, venerate him as a mystic and not as an artist.
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Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities.
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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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Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.
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I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.
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Oh, let me be mawkish for the nonce! I am so tired of being cynical.
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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 don't read reviews about myself with any special eagerness or attention unless they are masterpieces of wit and acumen, and I never reread them.
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The day, like the previous days, dragged sluggishly by in a kind of insipid idleness, devoid even of that dreamy expectancy which can make idleness so enchanting.
Vladimir Nabokov
Everything in the world is beautiful, but Man only recognizes beauty if he sees it either seldom or from afar. Listen, today we are gods! Our blue shadows are enormous! We move in a gigantic, joyful world!
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Alas! In vain historians pry and probe: The same wind blows, and in the same live robe Truth bends her head to fingers curved cupwise And with a woman's smile and a child's care Examines something she is holding there Concealed by her own shoulder from our eyes.
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Nymphets do not occur in polar regions.
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