As palavras sem a experiência não teriam qualquer significado.

Vladimir Nabokov

Mots clés lolita

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Enchia-me o peito uma tempestade de soluços.

Vladimir Nabokov

Mots clés lolita

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Estamos absurdamente acostumados ao milagre de que uns poucos sinais escritos são capazes de conter imagens imortais, espirais de pensamentos, novos mundos com pessoas vivas que falam, choram e riem. Aceitamos isso com tanta simplicidade que de certo modo, pelo próprio ato da aceitação insensível e rotineira, desfazemos a obra de todos os tempos, a história do desenvolvimento gradual da descrição e construção poéticas, do hominídeo a Browning, do troglodita a Keats. Que aconteceria se acordássemos um dia, todos nós, e descobríssemos que éramos totalmente incapazes de ler? Quero que vocês se maravilhem não apenas com o que lêem, mas com o milagre de que algo seja passível de ser lido.

Vladimir Nabokov

Mots clés reading

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Oh, let me be mawkish for the nonce! I am so tired of being cynical.

Vladimir Nabokov

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We think not in words but in shadows of words.

Vladimir Nabokov

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for better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word.

Vladimir Nabokov

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...we shall connect the points, draw the line, and you and I shall form that unique design for which I yearn. If they do this kind of thing to me every morning, they will get me trained and I shall become quite wooden.

Vladimir Nabokov

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Mnemosyne, one must admit, has shown herself to be a very careless girl.

Vladimir Nabokov

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I am Sebastian, or Sebastian is I, or perhaps we both are someone whom neither of us knows.

Vladimir Nabokov

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This, and much more, she accepted - for after all living did mean accepting
the loss of one joy after another, not even joys in her case - mere
possibilities of improvement. She thought of the endless waves of pain
that for some reason or other she and her husband had to endure; of the
invisible giants hurting her boy in some unimaginable fashion; of the
incalculable amount of tenderness contained in the world; of the fate of
this tenderness, which is either crushed, or wasted, or transformed into
madness; of neglected children humming to themselves in unswept corners;
of beautiful weeds that cannot hide from the farmer and helplessly have to
watch the shadow of his simian stoop leave mangled flowers in its wake, as
the monstrous darkness approaches.

Vladimir Nabokov

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