More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist.
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.
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.
And the rest is rust and stardust.
The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.
I don't think in any language. I think in images.
Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.
Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.
Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.
Oh, let me be mawkish for the nonce! I am so tired of being cynical.
