Author of quotes: Vladimir Nabokov. Page 5

... went up close, so it was possible to distinguish his round brown nose enlarged pores, one of which, at the muzzle, has released a single, but long hair.

I feel in my calves so tightly wound a lot of miles, which could life still to run.

Fragments of these speeches, in which bubbles of water sought and the bursting of the words "transparency" and "proof", now sounded at Cincinnati in the ears, and the noise of blood turned into applause.

Defense counsel and the Prosecutor, both painted and very similar to each other (the law required that they be half-brothers, but it is not always possible to pick up, and then makeup).

On the table were white clean sheet of paper and standing out against the white, lay amazingly oceneny pencil, long as the life of any person, except for Cincinnati, and with an ebony gleam to each of the six faces. The enlightened descendant of the index finger.

A bunch of cherries, red and sticky chernevka in front of us, turned suddenly to some berries: the one with the scar, rotted, and this wrinkled, cahses around the bone.

He was one of those people who ask how you live, but in order to thoroughly tell you how they live.

I wanted to howl from tenderness, from affection, which could not simply and conveniently in me to fit, and stuck in the door, bulky, fragile corners, it is unnecessary.

Be merciful. Kings do not ask.
All gratefully cherish.
Pray - cloudless sky
And basilicam in a wavy rye.
Not despising a seasoned of dreams,
try the best to create.
Birds, timid and small,
learn, learn to bless!

Live. Don't complain, not numbers
neither the years nor the planets,
and slender will merge thoughts
in response one: there is no death.

All those small, something cute items that eyes and fingers are so accustomed, and which only required that a person forever doomed to a housewarming party, feel at least a little at home, laying the hundredth time out of a suitcase is light, gentle, humane dust.

We know the prayers of such
the heart easily at night;
and the proud Muse of Russia
accompany us invisibly.

Immortal our happiness
Russia called for centuries.
We edge not seen more beautiful
And was in many parts.

Everything in the world is beautiful, but man only recognizes great when he sees it either seldom or from afar...