I dreamt of you last night - as if I was playing the piano and you were turning the pages for me. - Vladimir Nabokov

I clearly understand, first, that the real human being is a poet and, second, that [the tyrant] is the incarnate negation of a poet.

To know that no one before you has seen an organ you are examining, to trace relationships that have occurred to no one before, to immerse yourself in the wondrous crystalline world of the microscope, where silence reigns, circumscribed by its own horizon, a blindingly white arena — all this is so enticing that I cannot describe it.

The more you love a memory; the stronger and stranger it becomes