I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes - Vladimir Nabokov

" "

I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes

English
Collect this quote

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
Works in ChatGPT, Claude, or Any AI

Add semantic quote search to your AI assistant via MCP. One command setup.

Related quotes. More quotes will automatically load as you scroll down, or you can use the load more buttons.

Shorter versions of this quote

Additional quotes by Vladimir Nabokov

I am aware of many things being quite as important as good writing and good reading; but in all things it is wiser to go directly to the quiddity, to the text, to the source, to the essence — and only then evolve whatever theories may tempt the philosopher, or the historian, or merely please the spirit of the day. Readers are born free and ought to remain free.

Try QuoteGPT

Chat naturally about what you need. Each answer links back to real quotes with citations.

There is nothing dictators hate so much as that unassailable, eternally elusive, eternally provoking gleam. One of the main reasons why the very gallant Russian poet Gumilev was put to death by Lenin's ruffians thirty odd years ago was that during the whole ordeal, in the prosecutor's dim office, in the torture house, in the winding corridors that led to the truck, in the truck that took him to the place of execution, and at that place itself, full of the shuffling feet of the clumsy and gloomy shooting squad, the poet kept smiling.

Loading...