"Very soon a number of unconsolable oils found themselves being shipped back to Moscow, while another batch moped in rented flats before trouping up to the attic or creeping down to the marketstall."
"He lodged for another happy year in that cosy house and died of a stroke in a lift after a business dinner. Going up, one would like to surmise."
"I taught thought to mimick an imperial neurotransmitter an awsome messenger carrying my order of self destruction to my own brain. Suicide made a pleasure."
"the cemetery of the assymetrical heart"
"The minor poetry of mystical myths"
- Vladimir Nabokov, The Original of Laura (Dying is Fun)
Ah, Nabokov.
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3 comments:
you're doing this on purpose aren't you? bah.
Ah, indeed.
wow.
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