baur

“. . . I lay on the bed and lost myself in the stories.
I liked that. Books were safer than other people anyway.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

“I only have two kinds of dreams: the bad and the terrible. Bad dreams I can cope with. They're just nightmares, and they end eventually. I wake up.
The terrible dreams are the good dreams. In my terrible dreams, everything is fine. I am still with the company. I still look like me. None of the last five years ever happened. Sometimes I'm married. Once I even had kids. I even knew their names. Everything's wonderful and normal and fine. And then I wake up, and I'm still me. And I'm still here. And that is truly terrible.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 3: Dream Country

“Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.
Age: five thousand three hundred days.
Profession: none, or "starlet"

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?
Why are you hiding, darling?
(I Talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
I cannot get out, said the starling).

Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
What make is the magic carpet?
Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?
And where are you parked, my car pet?

Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?
Still one of those blue-capped star-men?
Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,
And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!
Are you still dancin', darlin'?
(Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,
And I, in my corner, snarlin').

Happy, happy is gnarled McFate
Touring the States with a child wife,
Plowing his Molly in every State
Among the protected wild life.

My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,
And never closed when I kissed her.
Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?
Are you from Paris, mister?

L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;
Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!
Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!
Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,
Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.
And again my hairy fist I raise,
And again I hear you crying.

Officer, officer, there they go--
In the rain, where that lighted store is!
And her socks are white, and I love her so,
And her name is Haze, Dolores.

Officer, officer, there they are--
Dolores Haze and her lover!
Whip out your gun and follow that car.
Now tumble out and take cover.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.
Ninety pounds is all she weighs
With a height of sixty inches.

My car is limping, Dolores Haze,
And the last long lap is the hardest,
And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,
And the rest is rust and stardust.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Что стало с моими двумя феями? Они уже, конечно, замужем. Но тогда, быть может, их и не узнать? Ведь это такой серьезный шаг — прощанье с девичеством, превращение в женщину. Как живется им в новом доме? Дружны ли они, как прежде, с буйными травами и со змеями? Они были причастны к жизни всего мира. Но настает день — и в юной девушке просыпается женщина. Она мечтает поставить наконец кому-нибудь «девятнадцать». Этот высший балл - точно груз на сердце. И тогда появляется какой-нибудь болван. И неизменно проницательный взор впервые обманывается — и видит болвана в самом розовом свете. Если болван прочтет стихи, его принимают за поэта. Верят, что ему по душе ветхий, дырявый паркет, верят, что он любит мангуст. Верят, что ему лестно доверие гадюки, прогуливающейся под столом у него по ногам. Отдают ему свое сердце — дикий сад, а ему по вкусу только подстриженные газоны. И болван уводит принцессу в рабство.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry