Dear Jesus, do something.

Usually I read several books at a time - old books, new books, fiction, nonfiction, verse, anything - and when the bedside heap of a dozen volumes or so has dwindled to two or three, which generally happens by the end of one week, I accumulate another pile.

Ada girl, adored girl, [...] I'm a radiant void. I'm convalescing after a long and dreadful illness. You cried over my unseemly scar, but now life is going to be nothing but love and laughter, and corn in cans. I cannot brood over broken hearts, mine is too recently mended.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.

The clumsiest literal translation is a thousand times more useful than the prettiest paraphrase.

Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

Devices which in some curious new way imitate nature are attractive to simple minds.