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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.
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
Harmony
Suspended
Achievement
Wandering
Memory
Folds
Memories
Innate
Pleasure
Gathering
Use
Wander
Masterly
Makes
Witness
Harmonies
Past
Supreme
Fold
More quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Play! Invent the world! Invent reality!
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Derivative writers seem versatile because they imitate many others, past and present. Artistic originality has only itself to copy.
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Look at this tangle of thorns.
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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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All great novels are great fairy tales.
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I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.
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My own ultraviolet darling. Lolita
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And presently I was driving through the drizzle of the dying day, with the windshield wipers in full action but unable to cope with my tears.
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I have often noticed that after I had bestowed on the characters of my novels some treasured item of my past, it would pine away in the artificial world where I had so abruptly placed it.
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Curiously enough, one cannot read a book one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, and active and creative reader is a rereader.
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We think not in words but in shadows of words.
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Life with you was lovely—and when I say lovely, I mean doves and lilies, and velvet, and that soft pink ‘v’ in the middle and the way your tongue curved up to the long, lingering ‘l.’ Our life together was alliterative, and when I think of all the little things which will die, now that we cannot share them, I feel as if we were dead too.
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My mind speaks English, my heart speaks Russian, and my ear prefers French.
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A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own.
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She was like Marat only with nobody to kill her.
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I have the European urge to use my feet when a drive can be dispensed with.
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In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.
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He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.
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Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.
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