Quotes About Youth

I now warn the reader not to mock me and my mental daze. It is easy for him and me to decipher now a past destiny; but a destiny in the making is, believe me, not one of those honest mystery stories where all you have to do is keep an eye on the clues. In my youth I once read a French detective tale where the clues were actually in italics; but that is not McFate's way—even if one does learn to recognize certain obscure indications.

Kilencvennégy évesen is szerette újra átélni azt az elsÅ' szerelmes nyarat, s nem úgy, mint egy épp az imént látott álmot, hanem mint a múltbéli tudat felidézését, amelynek révén leküzdötte a szürke hajnali órákat a felületes alvás és az aznapi elsÅ' tabletta között.

I am convinced, however, that in a certain magic and fateful way Lolita began with Annabel.

Lolita, luz da minha vida, fogo da minha virilidade. Meu pecado, minha alma. Lo-li-ta: A ponta da língua faz uma viagem de três passos pelo céu-da-boca abaixo e, no terceiro, bate nos dentes. Lo. Li. Ta. Pela manhã, um metro e trinta e dois a espichar dos soquetes; era Lo, apenas Lo. De calças práticas, era Lola. Na escola, era Dolly. Era Dolores na linha pontilhada onde assinava o nome. Mas nos meus braços era sempre Lolita.

Lolita, luce della mia vita, fuoco dei miei lombi. Mio peccato, anima mia. Lo-li-ta: la punta della lingua compie un percorso di tre passi sul palato per battere, al terzo, contro i denti. Lo. Li. Ta. Era Lo, semplicemente Lo al mattino, ritta nel suo metro e quarantasette con un calzino solo. Era Lola in pantaloni. Era Dolly a scuola. Era Dolores sulla linea tratteggiata dei documenti. Ma tra le mie braccia era sempre Lolita.

I found Dolores Haze at the kitchen table, consuming a wedge of pie, with her eyes fixed on her script. They rose to meet mine with a kind of celestial vapidity.

Mindkettejüket szórakoztatták az élet ifjonti ügyetlenkedései, mindkettejüket elszomorította a múló idÅ'vel megérkezÅ' bölcsesség.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She

The two lads were told to wash their hands. The recent thrill of adventure had been superseded by another sort of excitement. They locked themselves up. The tap ran unheeded. Both were in a manly state and moaning like doves.

I felt that way not because I never once discovered any palpable hard young throat to crush among the masculine mutes that flickered somewhere in the background; but because it was to me overwhelmingly obvious (a favorite expression with my aunt Sybil) that all varieties of high school boys - from the perspiring nincompoop whom holding hands thrills, to the self-sufficient rapist with pustules and a souped-up car - equally bored my sophisticated young mistress.

The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car.

behind the awful juvenile clichés, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta

Kai atsigr?ži ? savo jaunyst?s dienas, jos atrodo kaip nuo man?s tolstantis blankus pakartotini? skiau?i? s?kurys, kaip rytinis spie?ius sunaudot? popier?li?, matomas Amerikos ekspreso keleivio pro paskutinio vagono galin? lang?, už kurio jie s?kuriuoja.

Lolita, hayat?m?n ?????, kas?klar?m?n ateÅŸi. Günah?m, ruhum, Lolita; dilin ucu damaktan diÅŸlere doÄŸru üç basamakl?k bir yol al?r, üçüncüsünde gelir diÅŸlere dayan?r. Lo-Li-Ta

Once a perfect little beauty in a tartan frock, with a clatter put her heavily armed foot near me upon the bench to dip her slim bare arms into me and tighten the strap of her roller skate, and I dissolved in the sun, with my book for fig leaf, as her auburn ringlets fell all over her skinned knee, and the shadow of leaves I shared pulsated and melted on her radiant limb next to my chameleonic cheek.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta:

I remember once handling an automatic belonging to a fellow student, in the days (I have not spoken of them, I think, but never mind) when I toyed with the idea of enjoying his little sister, a most diaphanous nymphet with a black hair bow, and then shooting myself.

When I was a child and she was a child, my little Annabel was no nymphet to me; I was her equal, a faunlet in my own right, on that same enchanted island of time;

a destiny in the making is, believe me, not one of those honest mystery stories where all you have to do is keep an eye on the clues. In my youth I once read a French detective tale where the clues were actually in italics; but that is not McFate's way — even if one does learn to recognize certain obscure indications.

It is all part of the fun of being young and alive and beautiful

What mad hope or hate makes the young beast's flanks pulsate, what black stars pierce the heart of the tamer!

And for a minute she became thoughtful, ac- complishing during that one minute, as sometimes hap- pens, a long leisurely journey: she set off into Luzhin's past, dragging Valentinov with her, visualizing him, from his voice, in horn rimmed spectacles and long-legged, and as she journeyed through the mi^t she looked for a spot where she could dump the slippery, repulsively wriggling Valentinov, but she could not find one because she knew almost nothing about Luzhin's youth.

El lector debe comprender que, dueño y señor de una nínfula, el encantado viajero está, por así decirlo, más allá de la felicidad.