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Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

“He excused himself saying he felt out of sorts, and continued to clean the bowl of his pipe as fiercely as if it were my heart he was hollowing out.”

Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

Work

Pale fire

Pale Fire is a 1962 novel by Vladimir Nabokov written as a long poem in four sections followed by a detailed commentary. The poem titled Pale Fire is attributed to the fictional poet John Shade, while the extensive notes are attributed to Charles Kinbote, a neighbor and self-proclaimed friend of Shade. The narrative structure creates profound ambiguity about what actually occurred, as the commentary increasingly reveals biases, inconsistencies, and personal preoccupations that conflict with the poem's surface meaning. The book explores themes of artistic creation, the nature of interpretation, exile from a lost homeland, and the fragility of meaning-making in the face of death. It is considered one of the most innovative novels of the twentieth century. more

Author

Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov

Russian-born American novelist, best known for his novel 'Lolita'. Nabokov is renowned for his unique literary style and profound use of language and symbolism. more

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“And,” Annabeth continued, “it reminds me how long we’ve known each other. We were twelve, Percy. Can you believe that?” “No, he admitted. “So…you knew you liked me from that moment?” She smirked. “I hated you at first. You annoyed me. Then I tolerated you for a few years. Then—” “Okay, fine.” She leaned in and kissed: him a good, proper kiss without anyone watching—no Romans anywhere, no screaming satyr chaperones. She pulled away. “I missed you, Percy.” Percy wanted to tell her the same thing, but it seemed too small a comment. While he had been on the Roman side, he’d kept himself alive almost solely by thinking of Annabeth. I missed you didn’t really cover that.”

“Der Name klang immer noch so vertraut. Vermutlich hatte sie ihn öfter ausgesprochen, als den ihres Sohnes. Warum schlug ihr albernes Herz schneller? Hatte es schon vergessen, wie viel Schmerz diese Besucherin ihm bereitet hatte? Ihr Vater hatte recht. Das Herz war ein schwaches, wandelbares Ding, auf nichts als Liebe aus und nichts war verhängnisvoller, als es zu seinem Meister zu machen. Der Verstand musste der Meister sein. Er tröstete über Narrenheiten des Herzens hinweg, fand Spottlieder für die Liebe, verhöhnte sie als eine Laune der Natur, vergänglich wie Blüten. Warum nur folgte sie dennoch immer wieder ihrem Herzen?”