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"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."

"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."

"—and I looked and looked at her, and knew clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else."

"L'autre soir un air froid d'opéra m'alita: Son félé—bien fol est qui s'y fie! Il neige, le décor s'écroule, 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."

"Lo! Lola! Lolita!" I hear myself crying from a doorway into the sun, with the acoustics of time, domed time, endowing my call and its tell-tale hoarseness with such a wealth of anxiety, passion and pain that really it would have been instrumental in wrenching open the zipper of her nylon shroud had she been dead. Lolita!"

"And then the remorse, the poignant sweetness of sobbing atonement, grove long love, the hopelessness of sensual reconciliation. In the velvet night, at Mirana Morel (Mirana!) I kissed the yellowish soles of her long toed feet, I immolated myself... But it was all of no avail. Both doomed were we. And soon I was to enter a new cycle of persecution."

"She sat right in the focus of my incandescent anger. The fog of lust had been swept away leaving nothing but this dreadful lucidity. Oh, she had changed!"

"We had really seen nothing. And I catch myself thinking today that our long journey had only defiled with a sinuous trail of slime the lovely, dreamy, enormous country that by then, in retrospect, was no more to us than a collection of dog-eared maps, ruined tour books, old tires, and her sobs in the night—every night, every night—the moment I feigned sleep."

"Sensitive gentlewomen of the jury, I was no even her first lover."

"Frigid gentlewomen of the jury! I had thought that months, perhaps years, would elapse before I dared to reveal myself to Dolores Haze; but by six she was wide awake, and by six fifteen we were technically lovers. I am going to tell you something very strange: it was she who seduced me."