I would like to spare the time and effort of hack reviewers and, generally, persons who move their lips when reading.

Long after her death I felt her thoughts floating through mine. Long before we met we had had the same dreams. We compared notes. We found strange affinities. The same June of the same year (1919) a stray canary had fluttered into her house and mine, in two widely separated countries. Oh, Lolita, had you love me thus!

There was no Lo to behold.

I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.

She was like Marat only with nobody to kill her.

Look at this tangle of thorns.

Another tormentor inquired if it was true that I had installed two ping-pong tables in my basement. I asked, was it a crime? No, he said, but why two? Is that a crime? I countered, and they all laughed.