She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Words without experience are meaningless.

My answer to your question'Does the writer have a social responsibility?' is NO.You owe me ten cents, sir.

...in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.

A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual.

Readers are not sheep, and not every pen tempts them.

Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.