Vladimir Nabokov Quotes
I could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. Her inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies - every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning. Everything seemed yellowly blurred, illusive, lost.
Vladimir Nabokov
Quotes to Explore
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Three publishers came to me at the White House after George lost and said, 'We would like to publish your book.' I said, 'Well, I don't have a book,' and they said well it's a well known fact that you have kept diaries.
Barbara Bush
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Whatever I'm doing, I'm in that moment and I'm doing it. The rest of the world's lost. If I'm cooking some food or making soup, I want it to be lovely. If not, what's the point of doing it?
Sade Adu
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I became a people-watcher when I lost all my friends when I was 12.
Taylor Swift
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Once a landscape is industrialized, its wild character is lost for good. You can't recreate untouched tundra, mountain meadows, crystal clear streams, and animals that have never encountered toxic waste.
Frances Beinecke
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War, I have always said, forces men to change their standards, regardless of whether their country has won or lost.
Salvatore Quasimodo
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I like to write about love and love lost because I feel like there are so many different subcategories of emotions that you can possibly delve into.
Taylor Swift
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It's very hard to find perfection in your life. But in the art world you can do that.
Washed Out
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My freshman year, I played third, and sophomore and junior, third.
Jacob deGrom
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As far as cartoons go, I watched a lot of 'Ed, Edd, n Eddy' when I was a kid.
Laurie Hernandez
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One of the noblest words in our language is "grace," defined as "unearned blessing." We live by grace far more than by anything else. Accordingly, I find that the one thing which I want to put into practice in my own life is the conscious and deliberate habit of finding someone to thank.
D. Elton Trueblood
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I could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. Her inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies - every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning. Everything seemed yellowly blurred, illusive, lost.
Vladimir Nabokov