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A Clockwork Orange
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Another Country
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The Rules of Attr...
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  (page 210 of 283)
Oct 25, 2024 03:29AM

 
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Vladimir Nabokov
“Kisses, my love, deep ones, to the point of fainting-”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

Franz Kafka
“Dear Milena,
I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.” Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.”
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

Vladimir Nabokov
“They say that suffering is a good school. Yes, true. But happiness is the best university.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

Vladimir Nabokov
“How can I explain to you, my happiness, my golden wonderful happiness, how much I am all yours — with all my memories, poems, outbursts, inner whirlwinds? Or explain that I cannot write a word without hearing how you will pronounce it — and can’t recall a single trifle I’ve lived through without regret — so sharp! — that we haven’t lived through it together — whether it’s the most, the most personal, intransmissible — or only some sunset or other at the bend of a road — you see what I mean, my happiness?

And I know: I can’t tell you anything in words — and when I do on the phone then it comes out completely wrong. Because with you one needs to talk wonderfully, the way we talk with people long gone… in terms of purity and lightness and spiritual precision… You can be bruised by an ugly diminutive — because you are so absolutely resonant — like seawater, my lovely.

I swear — and the inkblot has nothing to do with it — I swear by all that’s dear to me, all I believe in — I swear that I have never loved before as I love you, — with such tenderness — to the point of tears — and with such a sense of radiance.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

Donna Tartt
“Cubitum eamus?"
"What?"
"Nothing.”
Donna Tartt, The Secret History

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