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Lolita is like a mirage in the desert. It's made to look challenging and ultimately satisfying but what it really is is just a hollow image of something it can never be. In other words, as complex and detailed the mirage (or Nabokov's prose) may seem, it's just a feather in the wind. Overall, I came to believe this book has survived on its shock value alone but that's not enough for me to deem it an important literary piece. Mr. Nabokov's "brilliant wordplay" or prose lacks what I call- a life. A book can't haunt you if it never had a life to begin with. Lolita is one of those... I don't see myself ever going back to quote it someday, or longing to read it once more, or telling others of its message, or recognizing the influence its had on my perspective. Which is to say- Nabokov's "brilliant prose" did nothing for me because it carried no weight.