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“I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais! And there were times when I knew how you felt, and it was hell to know it, my little one. Lolita girl, brave Dolly Schiller.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“I mean, I have the feeling that something in my mind is poisoning everything else.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“We all have such fateful objects â€� it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a number in another â€� carefully chosen by the gods to attract events of specific significance for us: here shall John always stumble; there shall Jane's heart always break.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“I’ll put off reading Lolita for six more years until she turns 18.”
― Groucho Marx

“Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Because you took advantage of my disadvantage.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
I cannot get out, said the starling”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“In a nervous and slender-leaved mimosa grove at the back of their villa we found a perch on the ruins of a low stone wall. She trembled and twitched as I kissed the corner of her parted lips and the hot lobe of her ear. A cluster of stars palely glowed above us between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own. Her legs, her lovely live legs, were not too close together, and when my hand located what it sought, a dreamy and eerie expression, half-pleasure, half-pain, came over those childish features. She sat a little higher than I, and whenever in her solitary ecstasy she was led to kiss me, her head would bend with a sleepy, soft, drooping movement that was almost woeful, and her bare knees caught and compressed my wrist, and slackened again; and her quivering mouth, distorted by the acridity of some mysterious potion, with a sibilant intake of breath came near to my face. She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward fist the scepter of my passion.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Lolita is famous, not I. I am an obscure, doubly obscure, novelist with an unpronounceable name.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: "honey-colored skin," "thin arms," "brown bobbed hair," "long lashes," "big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Thus, neither of us is alive when the reader opens this book. But while the blood still throbs through my writing hand, you are still as much part of blessed matter as I am, and I can still talk to you from here to Alaska. Be true to your Dick. Do not let other fellows touch you. Do not talk to strangers. I hope you will love your baby. I hope it will be a boy. That husband of yours, I hope, will always treat you well, because otherwise my specter shall come at him, like black smoke, like a demented giant, and pull him apart nerve by nerve. And do not pity C. Q. One had to choose between him and H.H., and one wanted H.H. to exist at least a couple of months longer, so as to have him make you live in the minds of later generations. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.”
― Vladimir Nabakov, Lolita

“I was a daisy fresh girl and look what you've done to me.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“I'm thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art, And this is the only immortality that you and I may share, my Lolita.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is that traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“There was no Lo to behold.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“My little cup brims with tiddles.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Lolita, luz de mi vida, fuego de mis entrañas. Pecado mío, alma mía. Lo-li-ta: la punta de la lengua emprende un viaje de tres pasos paladar abajo hasta apoyarse, en el tercero, en el borde de los dientes. Lo. Li. Ta.
Era Lo, sencillamente Lo, por la mañana, cuando estaba derecha, con su metro cuarenta y ocho de estatura, sobre un pie enfundado en un calcetín. Era Lola cuando llevaba puestos los pantalones. Era Dolly en la escuela. Era Dolores cuando firmaba. Pero en mis brazos fue siempre Lolita.
¿Tuvo Lolita una precursora? Naturalmente que sí. En realidad, Lolita no hubiera podido existir para mí si un verano no hubiese amado a otra niña iniciática. En un principado junto al mar. ¿Cuándo? Aquel verano faltaban para que naciera Lolita casi tantos como los que yo tenía entonces. Pueden contar en que la prosa de los asesinos sea siempre elegante, vaya que lo sé.
Señoras y señores del jurado, la prueba número uno es lo que los serafines, los mal informados e ingenuos ángeles de majestuosas alas, envidiaron. Contemplen esta maraña de espinas.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“I could not kill her, of course, as some have thought. You see, I loved her. It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, 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.
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.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Él me destrozó el corazón. Tú destrozaste mi vida.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“..."offensive" is frequently but a synonym for "unusual"...”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“No man can resist a woman who has an apple in her hand. It's theological. A woman with an apple in her hand is the first woman, the only woman in the world. And he is the first man, he stumbles on love and he cant shake it,never,ever,ever..”
― Pia Pera, Lo's Diary

“for did it not mean I was losing my darling, just when I had secretly made her mine?”
― Valdimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Good by-aye!" she chanted, my American sweet immortal dead love; for she is dead and immortal if you are reading this.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“History, lie of our lives, mire of our loins. Our sins, our souls. Hiss-tih-ree: the tip of the pen taking a trip of three steps (with one glide) down the chronicle to trap a slick, sibilant character. Hiss. (Ss.) Tih. Ree.

He was a pig, a plain pig, in the morning, standing five feet ten on one hoof. He was a pig in slacks. He was a pig in school. He was a pig on the dotted line. But in my eyes it’s always the ones signing dotted lines that become pigs.

Did this pig have a precursor? He did, indeed he did. In point of fact, dating all the way back to the Biblical Age. Oh where? About everywhere you look there's pigs giving that fancy olâ€� snake a chase. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can always count on a fuckinâ€� pretentious sarcastican for a fancy prose style.”
― Brian Celio, Catapult Soul

“I appealed to her stale flesh very seldom, only in cases of great urgency and despair.”
― Vladamir Nabokov, Lolita

“The stars that sparkled, and the cars that parkled, and the bars, and the barmen, were presently taken over by her”
― Vladimir Nabokov

“My heart seemed everywhere at once.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“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).”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“With your little claws, Lolita.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita