I shall continue to exist. I may assume other disguises, other forms, but I shall try to exist.

No author has created with less emphasis such pathetic characters as Chekhov has.

Imagination, the supreme delight of the immortal and the immature, should be limited. In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much.

We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless.

And this is the only immortality you and i may share, my Lolita.

Solitude was corrupting me.

Down you go, but all the while you feel suspended and buoyed as you somersault in slow motion like a somnolent tumbler pigeon, and sprawl supine on the eiderdown of the air, or lazily turn to embrace your pillow, enjoying every last instant of soft, deep, death-padded life, with the earth's green see-saw now above, now below, and the voluptuous crucifixion, as you stretch yourself in the growing rush, in the nearing swish, and then your loved body's obliteration in the Lap of the Lord.