More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.
The contemplation of beauty, whether it be a uniquely tinted sunset, a radiant face, or a work of art, makes us glance back unwittingly at our personal past and juxtapose ourselves and our inner being with the utterly unattainable beauty revealed to us.
Words without experience are meaningless.
Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.
Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness.
Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
Some people—and I am one of them—hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm. Doom should not jam. The avalanche stopping in its tracks a few feet above the cowering village behaves not only unnaturally but unethically.
For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.
Which arrow flies for ever? The arrow that has hit its mark.
Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.
