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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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A sense of security, of well-being, of summer warmth pervades my memory. That robust reality makes a ghost of the present. The mirror brims with brigh...more

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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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I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

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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...more

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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...more

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Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.My sin, my soul.

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The more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

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When we remember our former selves, there is always that little figure with its long shadow stopping like an uncertain belated visitor on a lighted th...more

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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...more

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His heart missed a beat and never regretted the lovely loss.

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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...more

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But then what does it matter whence comes the gentle nudge that jars the soul into motion and sets it rolling, doomed never again to stop?

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I remember a cartoon depicting a chimney sweep falling from the roof of a tall building and noticing on the way that a signboard had one word spelled ...more

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For some reason, I kept seeing it—it trembled and silkily glowed on my damp retina—a radiant child of twelve, sitting on a threshold, "pinging" pebble...more