More Quotes by Vladimir Nabokov
Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.
My mind speaks English, my heart speaks Russian, and my ear prefers French.
The only real number is one, the rest are mere repetition
Genius is finding the invisible link between things.
...in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.
Genius is an African who dreams up snow.
Our imagination flies -- we are its shadow on the earth.
I am sufficiently proud of my knowing something to be modest about my not knowing all.
Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.
