In London, The Weather Would

[nabokov's] Language Is Made Visible . . . Like A Veil Or Transparent Curtain. You Cannot Help Seeing The Curtain As You Peek Into The Intimate Rooms Behind.

Gatherings And, Simultaneously, Loneliness Are The Conditions Of A Writer's Life.

I Do Not Gather Things, I Prefer To Rent Them Rather Than To Possess Them.

If We Reduce Social Life To The Smallest Possible Unit We Will Find That There Is No Social Life In The Company Of One.

It Is Possible To Stand Around With A Cocktail In One's Hand And Talk With Everyone, Which Means With No One.