Quotes About Quote

Shall we take these candles with us and sit for a while on the piazza, or do you want to go to bed and nurse that tooth?" Nurse that tooth.

twirling in his fingers the mummy of a cigar

Wspomnienie nie dawa?o mu spokoju. Mo?na je by?o wytrzyma? przez chwil? i to tylko z perspektywy nieuleczalnej choroby, w wyra?nym przeczuciu nadchodz?cej ?mierci.

This night the password was silence.

a cesspoolful of rotting monsters behind his slow boyish smile.

Humbert the Terrible deliberated with Humbert the Small whether Humbert Humbert should kill her or her lover, or both, or neither.

The name yawned like a black doorway, then the door banged.

And all these are worlds," said Hagen. "Or else," said Clements with a yawn, "a frightful mess. I suspect it is really a fluorescent corpse, and we are inside it.

I first understood that things which to me had seemed natural were actually forbidden

Such incidents have convinced me that my heart is basically sound despite recent diagnoses.

her autobiography was as devoid of interests as her autopsy would have been. I never saw a healthier woman than she, despite thinning diets.

Solitude was corrupting me. I needed company and care. My heart was a hysterical, unreliable organ.

Oh, he was quite a scholar, Mr. Taxovich.

So I lingered there, pretending, in front of my own self, that I had something to write

Had I not somehow tampered with her fate by involving her image in my voluptas

I mesmerized him with it, I saturated him with my vision, I pressed upon him, with a drunkard's wild generosity, all that I was helpless myself to put into verse.

To know that this semi-animated, subhuman trickster who had sodomized my darling—oh, my darling, this was intolerable bliss

Where, where... M'sieur Pierre mimicked him. You know where. Off to do chop-chop.

He excused himself saying he felt out of sorts, and continued to clean the bowl of his pipe as fiercely as if it were my heart he was hollowing out.

I, on my part, was as naive as only a pervert can be

as if it were a point of honor—which, indeed, a point of art often is.

He was an amateur of sex lore

puzzling that such imitations always pander so exclusively to the eye instead of also copying the damp fat feel of live petal and leaf.

And here a life had come apart in darkness, and the room had grown a ghostly thorax, with a heart unknown, unloved -- but not alone.