It is nothing but a kind of microcosmos of communism — all that psychiatry,' rumbled Pnin, in his answer to Chateau. 'Why not leave their private sor… - Vladimir Nabokov

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It is nothing but a kind of microcosmos of communism — all that psychiatry,' rumbled Pnin, in his answer to Chateau. 'Why not leave their private sorrows to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?

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About Vladimir Nabokov

Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov (22 April (O.S. 10 April) 1899 – 2 July 1977) was a Russian-American writer. He wrote his first literary works in Russian, but gained international prominence as a masterly prose stylist for the novels he composed in English; his Lolita (1955) is frequently cited as one of the most important novels of the 20th century.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Pen Names: ვლადიმერ სირინი Vladimir Sirin Владимир Сирин
Native Name: Владимир Владимирович Набоков
Alternative Names: Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov Vl. Sirin Wladimir Nabokoff-Sirin V. Sirin Nabokov

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Why not leave their private sorrows to people? Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?

Additional quotes by Vladimir Nabokov

I see nothing for the treatment of my misery but the melancholy and very local palliative of articulate art.

I don’t think in any language. I think in images. I don’t believe that people think in languages. They don’t move their lips when they think. It is only a certain type of illiterate person who moves his lips as he reads or ruminates. No, I think in images, and now and then a Russian phrase or an English phrase will form with the foam of the brainwave, but that’s about all.

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No jewels, save my eyes, do I own, but I have a rose which is even softer than my rosy lips. And a quiet youth said: 'There is nothing softer than your heart.' And I lowered my gaze...”

I wrote back telling Liza that her poems were bad and she ought to stop composing. Sometime later I saw her in another cafe, sitting at a long table, abloom and ablaze among a dozen young Russian poets. She kept her sapphire glance on me with a mocking and mysterious persistence.

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