I think it is all a matter of love the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes
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I dreamt of you last night - as if I was playing the piano and you were turning the pages for me.
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The lost glove is happy.
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Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
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I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for? Maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of h...
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He loved her in spite of her unlovableness. Armande had many trying, thought not necessarily rare, traits, all of which he accepted as absurd clues in...
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Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.My sin, my soul.
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He could swear he did not look back, could not—by any optical chance, or in any prism—have seen her physically as he walked away; and yet, with dreadf...
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And what agony, thought Krug the thinker, to love so madly a little creature, formed in some mysterious fashion (even more mysterious to us than it ha...
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and I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, o...
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It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
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Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at t...
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We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.I was a strong lad and survived; but the poison w...
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I recall certain moments, let us call them icebergs in paradise, when after having had my fill of her –after fabulous, insane exertions that left me l...
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And I thought to myself how those fast little articles forget everything, everything, while we, old lovers, treasure every inch of their nymphancy
