In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much.
What are these hopes, and who is this savior?” “Imagination,” replied Cincinnatus.
I am here through an error – not in this prison, specifically – but in this whole terrible, striped world;.
Ah, gentle drivers gliding through summer’s black nights, what frolics, what twists of lust, you might see from your impeccable highways if Kumfy Kabins were suddenly drained of their pigments and became as transparent as boxes of glass!
To each, or about each, of his colleagues he had said at one time or other, something... something impossible to recall in this or that case and difficult to define in general terms – some careless bright and harsh trifle that had grazed a stretch of raw flesh.
Paduk and all the rest wrote on steadily, but Krug’s failure was complete, a baffling and hideous disaster, for he had been busy becoming an elderly man instead of learning the simple but now unobtainable passages which they, mere boys, had memorized.
Actually, observed Lucette, wiping the long envelope which a drop of soda had stained,- Bergson is only for very young people or very unhappy people, such as this available rousse.
Zembla is a site devoted to the life and works of author, translator, and lepidopterist.
The problem lies not with the characters within the novel, but with the reader itself.
Life, Love, libraries, have no future.
For the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented.
Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
Time means succession, and succession, change: Hence timelessness is bound to disarrange Schedules of sentiment.
It isn’t possible. I cannot imagine it. Come on over here, you foolish little doe, and tell me on what day I shall die.
I am quite willing to admit that they are also a deception but right now I believe in them so much that I infect them with truth.
A bowling ball rolled through his head, diagonally from nape to temple; it paused and started back.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
And the rest is rust and stardust.
Why should I tolerate a perfect stranger at the bedside of my mind?
Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.