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Vladimir Nabokov Quotes

Vladimir Nabokov quotes

American Novelist, Writer April 22, 1899 – July 2, 1977

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Quotes

Vladimir Nabokov quote: "I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a..."
I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is. Vladimir Nabokov
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "If sex is the sermon made of art, love is the lady of that tower."
If sex is the sermon made of art, love is the lady of that tower. Vladimir Nabokov
The Girl Scout’s motto is also mine. I fill my life with worthwhile deeds such as — well, never mind what. My duty is —to be useful. I am a friend to male animals. I am cheerful. I am thrifty and I am absolutely filthy in thought, word, and deed. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also..."
I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a..."
We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is..."
To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever..."
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight. Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov quote: "All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly..."
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other... Vladimir Nabokov
And yet I adore him. I think he's quite crazy, and with no place or occupation in life, and far from happy, and philosophically irresponsible? and there is absolutely nobody like him. Vladimir Nabokov
Have you ever happened, reader, to feel that subtle sorrow of parting with an unloved abode? The heart does not break, as it does in parting with dear objects. The humid gaze does not wander around holding back a tear, as if it wished to carry away in it a trembling reflection of the abandoned spot; but in the best corner of our hearts we feel pity for the things which we did not bring to life with our breath, which we hardly noticed and are now leaving forever. This already dead iventory... Vladimir Nabokov
The sense of literary creation is to portray ordinary objects as they will be reflected in the kindly mirrors of future times; to find in the objects around us the fragrant tenderness that only posterity will discern and appreciate in far-off times when every trifle of our plain everyday life will become exquisite and festive in its own right: the times when a man who might put on the most ordinary jacket of today will be dressed up for an elegant masquerade. Vladimir Nabokov
She had spent all her life in feeling miserable; this misery was her native element; its fluctuations, its varying depths, alone save her the impression of moving and living. What bothers me is that a sense of misery, and nothing else, is not enough to make a permanent soul. My enormous and morose Mademoiselle is all right on earth but impossible in eternity. Vladimir Nabokov
My angel, oh my angel, perhaps our whole earthly existence is now but a pun to you, or a grotesque rhyme, something like "dental" and "transcendental" (remember?), and the true meaning of reality, of that piercing term, purged of all our strange, dreamy, masquerade interpretations, now sounds so pure and sweet that you, angel, find it amusing that we could have taken the dream so seriously (although you and I did have an inkling of why everything disintegrated at one furtive touch-- words,... Vladimir Nabokov
A wonderful point in favor of some kind of hereafter is this: When the mind rejects as childishly absurd a paradise with musical angels or abstract colonnades with Horace and Milton in togas conversing and walking together through the eternal twilight, or the protracted voluptas of the orient or any other eternity -- such as the one with devils and porcupines -- we forget that if we could have imagined life before living it would have seemed more improbable than all our hereafters Vladimir Nabokov

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