Zembla is a site devoted to the life and works of author, translator, and lepidopterist.
You lose your immortality when you lose your memory.
You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.
While dragging herself up she had to hang onto the rail. Her twisted progress was that of a cripple. Once on the open deck she felt the solid impact of the black night, and the mobility of the acciden...
While a few pertinent points have to be marked, the general impression I desire to convey is of a side door crashing open in life's full flight, and a rush of roaring black time drowning with its whip...
Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love - from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter- to monstrously remote poin...
When you laugh, I want to transform theentire world so it will mirror you.
When I try to analyze my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes e...
When I hear a critic speaking of an author’s sincerity I know that either the critic or the author is a fool
What he had really wanted to do was to tear a hole in his world and escape.
What are these hopes, and who is this savior? Imagination, replied Cincinnatus.
What I heard was but the melody of children at play, nothing but that, and so limpid was the air that within this vapor of blended voices, majestic and minute, remote and magically near, frank and div...
We have it all arranged in our minds, and the less often we see a particular person the more satisfying it is to check how obediently he conforms to our notion of him every time we hear of him. Any de...
Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.
Vài người – và tôi là một trong số họ – ghét những cái kết vui. Chúng tôi thấy bị lừa. Tổn thương là bình thường. Nghiệp chướng bất khả cưỡng. Trận tuyết lở dừng giữa đường chỉ vài bước trên ngôi làng...
Vladimir Nabokov... 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 fi...
V.V. sought to express something, which expressed had only a twilight being (or even none at all--nothing but the illusion of the backward shadow of its imminent expression). It was Ada's castle of c...
Unless a film of flesh envelops us, we die. Man exists only insofar as he is separated from his surroundings. The cranium is a space-traveler's helmet. Stay inside or you perish. Death is divestment,...
Unfortunately his urge to write had suddenly petered out and he did not know what to do with himself. He was not sleepy having slept after dinner. The brandy only added to the nuisance. He was a big h...
Tú me echabas una mirada con un gris signo de interrogación en tus ojos. Oh, no, no empecemos de nuevo (incredulidad, exasperación). Pues nunca te dignabas a creer que yo pudiera sentir el deseo -sin...