Vladimir Nabokov

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:

    The verbal poetical texture of Shakespeare is the greatest the world has known, and is immensely superior to the structure of his plays as plays. With Shakespeare it is the metaphor that is the thing, not the play.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

    I’m really sorry that I cheated so much, but I guess that’s just the way things are.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

    And in the next instant, immediately behind them, Victor saw his former wife.
    At once he lowered his gaze, automatically tapping his cigarette to dislodge the ash that had not yet had time to form. From somewhere low down his heart rose like a fist to deliver an uppercut, drew back, struck again, then went into a fast disorderly throb, contradicting the music and drowning it.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

    Attainment and science, retainment and art—the two couples keep to themselves, but when they do meet, nothing else in the world matters.
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

    Why is it so difficult—so degradingly difficult—to bring the notion of Time into mental focus and keep it there for inspection? What an effort, what fumbling, what irritating fatigue!
    Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)