More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
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.
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.
Why should I tolerate a perfect stranger at the bedside of my mind?
Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist.
Our imagination flies -- we are its shadow on the earth.
Resemblances are the shadows of differences. Different people see different similarities and similar differences.
The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.
Words without experience are meaningless.
