Vladimir Nabokov Quotes
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff -and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. And from the inside, too, I'd duplicate Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate: Uncurtaining the night, I'd let dark glass Hang all the furniture above the grass, And how delightful when a fall of snow Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so As to make chair and bed exactly stand Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
Vladimir Nabokov
Quotes to Explore
My music is a little dark, and my lyrics are a little darker. Every day, I'm fighting towards the light.
Bebe Rexha
Our records, if you have a dark sense of humor, were funny, but our records weren't about comedy. They were about protests, fantasy, confrontation and all that.
Ice Cube
If one devalues rationality, the world tends to fall apart.
Lars von Trier
I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last.
Frances Farmer
Numerous have been the manifestations of God's providence in sustaining us. In the gloomy period of adversity, we have had 'our cloud by day and pillar of fire by night.' We have been reduced to distress, and the arm of Omnipotence has raised us up.
Samuel Adams
Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love.
Galway Kinnell
We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.
H. P. Lovecraft
I wear my Peggy Fleming T-shirt when I go to sleep every night before I compete, and for the past four years, it's brought me incredible good luck.
Sarah Hughes
I am here and I'm alive. That's enough.
Don Miguel Ruiz
This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits; an empty one, bickering and gloom.
Joanne Rowling
No one writes anything worth writing, unless he writes entirely for the sake of his subject.
Arthur Schopenhauer
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff -and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. And from the inside, too, I'd duplicate Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate: Uncurtaining the night, I'd let dark glass Hang all the furniture above the grass, And how delightful when a fall of snow Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so As to make chair and bed exactly stand Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
Vladimir Nabokov
