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I should allow only my heart to have imagination and for the rest rely on memory, that long drawn sunset of one's personal truth.

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
Long
Memory
Allow
Personal
Rest
Memories
Imagination
Sunset
Truth
Drawn
Heart
Rely

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Dear Jesus, do something.
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The tiny madman in his padded cell.
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My little cup brims with tiddles.
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Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.
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And yet I am happy. Yes, happy. I swear. I swear that I am happy...What does it matter that I am a bit cheap, a bit foul, and that no one appreciates all the remarkable things about me-my fantasy, my erudition, my literary gift...I am happy that I can gaze at myself, for any man is absorbing-yes, really absorbing! ... I am happy-yes, happy!
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There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity.
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There is no science without fancy and no art without fact.
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I confess, I do not believe in time.
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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 always call him Lewis Carroll Carroll, because he was the first Humbert Humbert.
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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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Some might think that the creativity, imagination, and flights of fancy that give my life meaning are insanity.
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By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast.
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A toothache will cost a battle, a drizzle cancel an insurrection.
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Caress the detail, the divine detail.
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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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Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for.
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I see again my schoolroom in Vyra, the blue roses of the wallpaper, the open window.… Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die.
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Readers are not sheep, and not every pen tempts them.
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Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
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