She was a clinging little soul, docile and gentle. Her love was of the lily variety; but now and then it burst into flame and at such times Albinus was deluded into thinking that he had no need of any other love-mate.
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Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov (/nəˈbɔːkəf, ˈnæbəˌkɔːf, -ˌkɒf/; Russian: Влади́мир Влади́мирович Набо́ков, pronounced [vlɐˈdʲimʲɪr nɐˈbokəf], also known by the pen name Vladimir Sirin; 22 April [O.S. 10 April] 1899c – 2 July 1977) was a Russian-American novelist and entomologist. His first nine novels were in Russian, but he achieved international prominence after he began writing English prose. Nabokov's Lolita (1955), his most noted novel in English, was ranked fourth in the list of the Modern Library 100 Best Novels; Pale Fire (1962) was ranked 53rd on the same list, and his memoir, Speak, Memory (1951), was listed eighth on the publisher's list of the 20th century's greatest nonfiction. He was a finalist for the National Book Award for Fiction seven times. Nabokov was an expert lepidopterist and composer of chess problems. 2Life and career 3Russia Nabokov was born on 22 April 1899 (10 April 1899 Old Style), in Saint Petersburg,b to a wealthy and prominent family of the Russian nobility. His father was the liberal lawyer, statesman, and journalist Vladimir Dmitrievich Nabokov (1870–1922) and his mother was the heiress Yelena Ivanovna née Rukavishnikova, the granddaughter of a millionaire gold-mine owner. His father was a leader of the pre-Revolutionary liberal Constitutional Democratic Party and authored numerous books and articles about criminal law and politics. His cousins included the composer Nicolas Nabokov. His paternal grandfather, Dmitry Nabokov (1827–1904), had been Russia's Justice Minister in the reign of Alexander II. His paternal grandmother was the Baltic German Baroness Maria von Korff (1842–1926
I am furious with you, but I love you very dearly.
You turn my life into something light, amazing, rainbowed— you put a glint of happiness on everything.
I loved, love, and shall love only you. I implore you and love you with everlasting pain and passion, my darling.
If my skin were a canvas and her lips a brush, not an inch of me would have remained unpainted and vice versa.
I love only you, I’m happy only in dreams of you, you are my joy and my world, this is as certain and real as being aware of one’s being alive.
We were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly.
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add...
I want you to come live with me, and die with me, and everything with me.
Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.
I want you to come live with me, and die with me, and everything with me.
I want you to come live with me, and die with me, and everything with me.
The more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it becomes.
I love you. It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.