for better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word.

I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita.

The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.

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

Oh, my Lolita, I have only words to play with!

I cannot disobey something which I do not know and the reality of which I have the right to deny.

I am surrounded by some sort of wretched specters, not by people. They torment me as can torment only senseless visions, bad dreams, dregs of delirium, the drivel of nightmares and everything that passes down here for real life.