Vladimir Nabokov
Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov (Russian: Влади́мир Влади́мирович Набо́ков, ; 22 April 1899c – 2 July 1977) was a Russian American novelist. Nabokov's first nine novels were in Russian. He then rose to international prominence as a writer of English prose. He also made serious contributions as a lepidopterist and chess composer.
Nabokov's Lolita (1955) is his most famous novel, and often considered his finest work in English. It exhibits the love of intricate word play and synesthetic detail that characterised all his works. The novel was ranked at No. 4 in the list of the Modern Library 100 Best Novels. Pale Fire (1962) was ranked at No. 53 on the same list. His memoir, Speak, Memory, was listed No. 8 on the Modern Library nonfiction list.
Read more about Vladimir Nabokov: Work, Nabokov's Synesthesia, Entomology, Chess Problems, Politics, Influence
Famous quotes by vladimir nabokov:
“At fifteen I visualized myself as a world-famous author of seventy with a mane of wavy white hair. Today I am practically bald.”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)
“I felt proud of myself. I had stolen the honey of a spasm without impairing the morals of a minor.”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)
“Rereading this novel today, replaying the moves of its plot, I feel rather like Anderssen fondly recalling his sacrifice of both Rooks to the unfortunate and noble Kieseritsky—who is doomed to accept it over and over again through an infinity of textbooks, with a question mark for monument.”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)
“Here is what sometimes happened to me: after spending the first part of the night at my desk—that part when night trudges heavily uphill—I would emerge from the trance of my task at the exact moment when night had reached the summit and was teetering on that crest, ready to roll down into the haze of dawn....”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)
“If someday I make a dictionary of definitions wanting single words to head them, a cherished entry will be ‘To abridge, expand, or otherwise alter or cause to be altered for the sake of belated improvement, one’s own writings in translation.’”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)