Citati iz knjige „Lolita“ autora Vladimir Nabokov

All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other;
Our brains were turned the way those of intelligent European preadolescents were in our day and set, and I doubt if much individual genius should be assigned to our interest in the plurality of inhabited worlds, competitive tennis, infinity, solipsism and so on. The softness and fragility of baby animals caused us the same intense pain. She wanted to be a nurse in some famished Asiatic country; I wanted to be a famous spy.
There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.
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.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.
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.
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other
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 was poetically superstitious.
And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.
Reverting to his professional state, he drove the Humberts to their residence and all the way Valeria talked, and Humbert the Terrible deliberated with Humbert the Small whether Humbert Humbert should kill her or her lover, or both, or neither.
All I now is that while the Haze woman and I went down the steps into the breathless garden, my knees were like reflections of knees in rippling water, and my lips were like sand, and
“That was my Lo,” she said, “and these are my lilies.”
“Yes,” I said, “yes. They are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.”
I felt my life needed a shake-up. There was another thing, too: moth holes had appeared in the plush of matrimonial comfort.
“enfant charmante et fourbe”
Old-world politeness, however, obliged me to go on with the ordeal.
The reader will regret to learn that soon after my return to civilization I had another bout with insanity (if to melancholia and a sense of insufferable oppression that cruel term must be applied
You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.
The caretakers of the various cemeteries involved report that no ghosts walk.
One moment I was ashamed and frightened, another recklessly optimistic.
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