Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov, also known by the pen name Vladimir Sirin; 22 April 1899c – 2 July 1977) was a Russian-American novelist. His first nine novels were in Russian, and he achieved international prominence after he began writing English prose...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth23 April 1899
CitySaint Petersburg, Russia
CountryUnited States of America
aesthetic affords art call connected exists fiction insofar shall states work
For me, a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.
creation discern fragrant future kindly lies literary mirrors objects ordinary portray posterity reflected tenderness
Here lies the sense of literary creation: to portray ordinary objects as they will be reflected in kindly mirrors of future times. . . . To find in objects around us the fragrant tenderness that only posterity will discern . . .
rust stardust
And the rest is rust and stardust.
violin would-be ache
if a violin string could ache, i would be that string.
love memories thinking
I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.
mirrors phantoms
For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me.
writing blank-mind feelings
The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.
friday men blue
A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.
time believe
I confess, I do not believe in time.
sorry real heart
Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.
writing revision erasers
I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.
love valentines-day sight
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
teacher school squares
There are teachers and students with square minds who are by nature meant to undergo the fascination of catagories. For them, 'schools' and 'movements' are everything; by painting a group symbol on the brow of mediocrity, they condone their own incomprehension of true genius.
meaningless
Words without experience are meaningless.