6:10 AM"I do not like writing about words, because then I often use bad and wrong and stale and wooly words. What I like to do is to treat words as a craftsman does his wood or stone or what-have-you, to hew, carve, mould, coil, polish and plane them into patterns, sequences, sculptures, fugures of sound expressing some lyrical impulse, some spiritual doubt or conviction, some dimly-realised truth I must try to reach and realise."
12:42 AM"And when, in front of him, a grinding whine came from behind the hump of the side street, swelling to full growth when it had overcome the grade, distending the night, already illuminating the descent with the ovals of yellowish light, about to hurdle downward— then, as if it were a dance, as if that ripple of the dance had carried him to stage center, under this growing, grinning, megathundering mass, his partner in a crashing cracovienne, this thundering iron thing, this instantaneous cinema of dismemberment— that’s it, drag me under, tear at my frailty— I’m traveling flattened, on my smacked-down face— hey, you’re spinning me, don’t rip me to pieces— you’re shredding me, I’ve had enough— zigzag gymnastics of lightning, spectrogram of a thunderbolt’s split seconds—and the film of life had burst."
Vladimir Nabokov, from The Enchanter (trans. Dmitri Nabokov)
3:48 AM"Intimacy builds worlds; it creates spaces and usurps places meant for other kinds of relation. Its potential failure to stabilize closeness always haunts its persistent activity, making the very attachments deemed to buttress ‘a life’ seem in a state of constant if latent vulnerability. Even from this small cluster of examples and scenes it becomes clear that virtually no one knows how to do intimacy; that everyone feels expert about it (at least about other people’s disasters); and that mass fascination with the aggression, incoherence, vulnerability, and ambivalence at the scene of desire somehow escalates the demand for the traditional promise of intimate happiness to be fulfilled in everyone’s everyday life."