All my stories are webs of style and none seems at first blush to contain much kinetic matter.

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.

...for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in a millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures.

I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.

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

It is a short walk from the hallelujah to the hoot.

All my stories are webs of style and none seems at first blush to contain much kinetic matter.