Stirless, I stand at the window, and in the black bowl of the sky glows like a golden drop of honey the mellow moon

I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

Look at this tangle of thorns.

It is nothing but a kind of a microcosmos of communism - all that psychiatry', rumbled Pnin ... 'Why not leave their private sorrow to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?

Measure me while I live - after it will be too late.

Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for.

A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual.