- A sentiment state she uciążliwy. W once jest cos nearby fizycznego w probe zachowania cast dzieciństwa Na swim most. - Nice pan pairs sprowadza wire do MSU duty.

— Vladimir Nabokov

As Gain looked up at the skeletal roof in the ethereal sky he realized with merciless clarity that his affair with Mary was ended forever. It had lasted no more than four days—four days which were perhaps the happiest days of his life. But now he had exhausted his memories, was sated by them, and the image of Mary, together with that of the old dying poet, now remained in the house of ghosts, which itself was already a memory

— Vladimir Nabokov

As if it were a point of honor—which, indeed, a point of art often is.

— Vladimir Nabokov

As to the past, I would not mind retrieving from various corners of space-time certain lost comforts, such as baggy trousers and long, deep bathtubs.

— Vladimir Nabokov

A sunset, almost formidable in its splendor, would be lingering in the fully exposed sky. Among its imperceptibly changing amusements, one could pick out brightly stained structural details of celestial organisms, or glowing slits in dark banks, or flat, ethereal beaches that looked like mirages of desert islands. I did not know then (as I know perfectly well now) what to do with such things—how to get rid of them, how to transform them into something that can be turned over to the reader in printed characters to have him cope with the blessed shiver—and this inability enhanced my oppression.

— Vladimir Nabokov

At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.

— Vladimir Nabokov

A thousand years ago five minutes were Equal to forty ounces of fine sand. Outstare the stars. Infinite foretime and Infinite after time: above your head They close like giant wings, and you are dead.

— Vladimir Nabokov

Aunt Rosa, a fussy, angular, wild-eyed old lady, who had lived in a tremulous world of bad news, bankruptcies, train accidents, cancerous growths—until the Germans put her to death, together with all the people she had worried about.

— Vladimir Nabokov

A wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle...

— Vladimir Nabokov

A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual.

— Vladimir Nabokov