A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual, and only the individual reader is important to me. I don't give a damn for the group, the community, the masses, and so forth.

The future is but the obsolete in reverse.

A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.

Those Eggheadsareterrible Philistines. A realgood head is not oval but round.

Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.

Freudism and all it has tainted with its grotesque implications and methods, appear to me to be one of the vilest deceits practiced by people on themselves and on others. I reject it utterly, along with a few other medieval items still adored by the ignorant, the conventional, or the very sick.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.