Quotes About Obsession

and finally there was the sleepless night when i decided to explore and fight the foul, the inadmissible abyss, devoting all my twisted life to this one task. today i'm sixty-one. waxwings are berry-pecking. a cicada sings.

And I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else.

I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.

I really knew nothing about her, blinded as I was by that burning loveliness which replaces everything else and justifies everything

I am trying to describe these things not to relive them in my present boundless misery, but to sort out the portion of hell and the portion of heaven in that strange, awful, maddening world- nymphet love. (135)

You have to be an artist and a madman...

In our hallway, ablaze with welcoming lights, my Lolita peeled off her sweater, shook her gemmed hair, stretched towards me two bare arms, raised one knee: "Carry me upstairs, please. I feel sort of romantic tonight." It may interest physiologists to learn, at this point, that I have the ability - a most singular case, I presume - of shedding torrents of tears throughout the other tempest.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet Age: five thousand three hundred days.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet. Age: five thousand three hundred days. Profession: none, or starlet. Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze? Why are you hiding, darling? (I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze, I cannot get out, said the starling).

Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.

With your little claws, Lolita.

Both Erica and Liza Wind were morbidly concerned with heredity, and instead of delighting in Victor's artistic genius, they used to worry gloomily about its genetic cause.

Yo me empecinaba en mi paraíso escogido: Un paraíso cuyos cielos tenían el color de las llamas infernales, pero con todo un paraiso

I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth.

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.

This daily headache in the opaque air of this tombal jail is disturbing, but I must persevere. Have written more than a hundred pages and not got anywhere yet. My Calender is getting confused. That must have been around August 15, 1947. Don't think I can go on. Heart, head--everything. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. Repeat til page is full, printer.

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.

So I tom-peeped across the hedges of years, into wan little windows. And when, by means of pitifully ardent, naively lascivious caresses, she of the noble nipple and massive thigh prepared me for the performance of my nightly duty, it was still a nymphet's scent that in despair I tried to pick up, as I bayed through the undergrowth of dark decaying forests.

I am lanky, big-boned, wooly-chested Humbert Humbert, with thick black eyebrows and a queer accent, and a cesspoolful of rotting monsters behind his slow boyish smile.

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.

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.