But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Only ambitious nonentities and hearty mediocrities exhibit their rough drafts. It's like passing around samples of sputum.

The evolution of sense is, in a sense, the evolution of nonsense.

A toothache will cost a battle, a drizzle cancel an insurrection.

My God died young. Theolatry i found Degrading, and its premises, unsound. No free man needs God; but was I free?

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!

Usually I read several books at a time - old books, new books, fiction, nonfiction, verse, anything - and when the bedside heap of a dozen volumes or so has dwindled to two or three, which generally happens by the end of one week, I accumulate another pile.