The moral sense in mortals is the duty We have to pay on mortal sense of beauty.
I would moreover submit that, in regard to the power of hoarding up impressions, Russian children of my generation passed through a period of genius, as if destiny were loyally trying what it could for them by giving them more than their share, in view of the cataclysm that was to remove completely the world they had known.
Humbert era perfectamente capaz de tener relaciones con Eva, pero suspiraba por Lilith.
I could not bring myself to touch him in order to make sure he was really dead. He looked it: a quarter of his face gone, and two flies beside themselves with a dawning sense of unbelievable luck.
I adore her so horribly. No: ‘horribly’ is the wrong word. The elation with which the vision of new delights filled me was not horrible but pathetic. I qualify it as pathetic. Pathetic – because despite the insatiable fire of my venereal appetite, I intended, with the most fervent force and foresight, to protect the purity of that twelve-year-old child. And.
They must have been glorious time together, those two. And it is hard to believe that the warmth, the tenderness, the beauty of it has not been gathered, and it is not treasured somewhere, somehow, by some immortal witness of mortal life.
Sleep is a rose, as the Persians say.
The decrees of society are temporary ones; what Tolstoy is interested in are the eternal demands of morality.
Oh, he was quite a scholar, Mr. Taxovich.
Then Van and Ada met in the passage, and would have kissed at some earlier stage of the Novel’s Evolution in the History of Literature.
By the way, did she ever tell you how Charlie Holmes debauched there his mother’s little charges.
And what I say is not it, not quite it, and I am getting mixed up, getting nowhere, talking nonsense, and the more I move about and search in the water where I grope on the sandy bottom for a glimmer I have glimpsed, the muddier the water grows, and the less likely it becomes that I shall grasp it.
He wants everything to be so simple – as, alas, it never is in real life!
I do not know the words I must choose to make you understand why I was so tormented. Such words do not come in the small size that fits your everyday needs.
I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze.
I was passionately parched; but she began to whimper in an unusually dreary way when I attempted to fondle her.
The greater part of him was in a quite different place, while only an insignificant portion of it was wandering, perplexed.
I entered a plane of being where nothing mattered, save the infusion of joy brewed within my body. What had begun as a delicious distention of my innermost roots became a glowing tingle which now had reached that state of absolute security, confidence and reliance not found elsewhere in conscious life.
Or is this all but obsolete romantic rot, Cincinnatus?
What stopped me was the awful feeling that if I meddled with fate in any way and tried to rationalize her fantastic gift, that gift would be snatched away like that palace on the mountain top in the Oriental tale which vanished whenever a prospective owner asked its custodian how come a strip of sunset sky was clearly visible from afar between black rock and foundation.