We Think Not In Words But In

When I Try To Analyze My Own Cravings, Motives, Actions And So Forth, I Surrender To A Sort Of Retrospective Imagination Which Feeds The Analytic Faculty With Boundless Alternatives And Which Causes Each Visualized Route To Fork And Re-fork Without End In The Maddeningly Complex Prospect Of My Past.

Do What Only A True Artist Can Do ... Pounce Upon The Forgotten Butterfly Of Revelation

Lolita, Light Of My Life, Fire Of My Loins. My Sin, My Soul.

I Would Like To Spare The Time And Effort Of Hack Reviewers And, Generally, Persons Who Move Their Lips When Reading.

The Commentator May Be Excused For Repeating What He Has Stressed In His Own Books And Lectures, Namely That "offensive" Is Frequently But A Synonym For "unusual;" And A Great Work Of Art Is Of Course Always Original, And Thus By Its Very Nature Should Come More Or Less As A Shocking Surprise.