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
thinking shadow
We think not in words but in shadows of words.
writing grows tumors
The thought, when written down, becomes less oppressive, but some thoughts are like a cancerous tumor: you express is, you excise it, and it grows back worse than before.
may miserable
Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.
time believe
I confess, I do not believe in time.
dream dust alive
...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.
yesterday names foul
Our best yesterdays are now foul piles of crumpled names.
real numbers and-love
There is only one real number: one. And love, apparently, is the best exponent of this singularity.
beauty beautiful moving
Everything in the world is beautiful, but Man only recognizes beauty if he sees it either seldom or from afar. Listen, today we are gods! Our blue shadows are enormous! We move in a gigantic, joyful world!
memories sunset heart
I should allow only my heart to have imagination; and for the rest rely on memory, that long drawn sunset of one's personal truth.
caged
We are most artistically caged.
writing revision erasers
I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.
inspirational creativity thinking
Some might think that the creativity, imagination, and flights of fancy that give my life meaning are insanity.
hate people ends
Some people, and I am one of them, hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm.
crazy thinking occupation
And yet I adore him. I think he's quite crazy, and with no place or occupation in life, and far from happy, and philosophically irresponsible – and there is absolutely nobody like him.