Realidade (uma das poucas palavras que só fazem sentido entre aspas)
…my Lolita remarked: You know, what’s so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about...
Light in comparison with darkness is a void.
And this is the only immortality you and i may share, my Lolita.
Great novels are above all great fairy tales . . . literature does not tell the truth but makes it up.
...I happen to be the kind of author who in starting to work on a book has no purpose than to get rid of that book....
One cannot read a book: one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader. And I shall tell you why. When we read a book for the first time the very pr...
My taut heartlurches heavily, like a sack in a cart, clatteringdownhill, towards a cliff, towards an abyss!It can't be stopped!
Making klv zdB AoyvBno wkh gwzxm dqg kzwAAqvo a gwttp vq wjfhm Ada in natural bower of aspens xliC mujzikml.
Memory can restore to life everything except smells, although nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
Amikor korábbi önmagunkra emlékezünk, mindig ott van az a hosszú árnyékot vető kis figura, amely mint egy bizonytalan, megkésett vendég áll meg a megvilágított küszöbön egy kifogástalanul szűkülő foly...
An oblong puddle inset in the coarse asphalt; like a fancy footprint filled to the brim with quicksilver; like a spatulate hole through which you can see the nether sky. Surrounded, I note, by a diffu...
And now, said Ada, Van is going to stop being vulgar—Imean, stop forever! Because I had and have and shall alwayshave only one beau, only one beast, only one sorrow, only one joy.
Az életnek, a szerelemnek, a könyvtáraknak nincs jövőjük.
Because of a streak of dreaminess and a gentle abstraction in his nature, Victor in any queue was always at its very end. He had long since grown used to this handicap, as one grows used to weak sight...
Because you took advantage of my disadvantage.
Before his and Pushkin's advent Russian literature was purblind. What form it perceived was an outline directed by reason: it did not see color for itself but merely used the hackneyed combinations of...
But nobody yet had been able to dig down to what was most captivating about her: this was the mysterious ability of her soul to apprehend in life only that which had once attracted and tormented her i...
By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast.
Certainly it’s all in bloom, certainly we’ll go. For aren’t you and I gods? . . . I sense in my blood the rotation of unexplorable universes. . . .
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