Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brainโthe brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashedโthen its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.
Vladimir NabokovSuddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.
Vladimir NabokovThere is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity.
Vladimir NabokovAll colors made me happy: even gray. My eyes were such that literally they Took photographs.
Vladimir Nabokov