I cannot help feeling there is something essentially wrong about love. Friends may quarrel or drift apart, close relations too, but there is not this pang, this pathos, this fatality which clings to love. Friendship never has that doomed look. Why, what is the matter? I have not stopped loving you, but because I cannot go on kissing your dim dear face, we must part, we must part.

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me.

My own ultraviolet darling. " Lolita

There was no Lo to behold.

My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.

Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness.

He broke my heart. You merely broke my life.