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Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

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Lolita

Written by Vladimir Nabokov, this novel is known for its complex narrative structure and controversial subject matter. It follows the protagonist's infatuation with a 12-year-old girl named Dolores Haze, known as Lolita. The novel delves into the psychological and moral complexities of the relationship, while also examining the nature of love, desire, and innocence. 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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“My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a bargain better driven. His heart in me keeps me and him in one; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his because in me it bides. His heart his wound received from my sight; My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his hurt did light, So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart: Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, My true-love hath my heart and I have his.”

“Will my little cat starve in Paris?' he asked. 'I don't know,' said Père. 'I don't know who will take us in or where we shall go. Cats are never happy in strange places. You ought to have left her behind. She would have fed herself. Someone would take care of her.' 'No,' whispered Julius, 'no - never, never anyone but me. What is mine cannot belong to another person. Père, do you understand? Tell me you understand.”

“You are indeed teaching me about kinds of love I did not know. It is like looking into a deep pit. I'm not sure whether I like your kind better than hatred. Oh, Orual- to take my love for you, because you know it goes down to my very roots and cannot be diminished by any other newer love, and then to make of it a tool, a weapon, a thing of policy and mastery, an instrument of torture- I begin to think I never knew you. Whatever comes after, something that was between us dies here.”

“There she was before him in all her Aboriginal glory. Brown eyes and skin so tan it was nearly black. Her smile—a wondrous thing. Her lips—he imagined that by the end of summer, they’d be kissing him on the way home from Gravity Park. To Iron, elevated as she was in his poetic imagination, she had become something else entirely, obscuring lines between fact and fiction, between science and religion. Nothing made sense—and yet everything did.”