#Quote
More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.
I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze I cannot get out, said the starling
Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
There is nothing dictators hate so much as that unassailable, eternally elusive, eternally provoking gleam. One of the main reasons why the very gallant Russian poet Gumilev was put to death by Lenin's ruffians thirty odd years ago was that during the whole ordeal, in the prosecutor's dim office, in the torture house, in the winding corridors that led to the truck, in the truck that took him to the place of execution, and at that place itself, full of the shuffling feet of the clumsy and gloomy shooting squad, the poet kept smiling.
My mind speaks English, my heart speaks Russian, and my ear prefers French.
Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.
The only real number is one, the rest are mere repetition
Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.
I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.
