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Vladimir Nabokov

"Religion is boring and alien to me and relates no more than a chimera to what is to me the reality of the spirit."

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"Religion is boring and alien to me and relates no more than a chimera to what is to me the reality of the spirit."

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Amber Hurdle

"But if they called everything divine which they do not understand, why, there would be no end of divine beings."

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Amber Hurdle

"Life in Christ is far richer."

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Amber Hurdle

"O Lord, grant me the grace of endurance, in the race of life."

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Amber Hurdle

"Lord, thank you for the courage to live life."

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Amber Hurdle

"Only God can set the soul in bondage free."

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Amber Hurdle

"You could just as well say that an agnostic is a deeply religious person with at least a rudimentary knowledge of human fallibility."

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Amber Hurdle

"All earth's candles cannot make daylight if the Sun of Righteousness be eclipsed. He is the soul of our soul, the light of our light, the life of our life."

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Amber Hurdle

"God has forgiven and still forgives us when we repent from our sins, an indication that we are not called to sin, but to live in accordance with His will."

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Amber Hurdle

"When you see no present advantage, walk by faith and not by sight. Do God the honor to trust Him when it comes to matters of loss for the sake of principle."

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Amber Hurdle

"Pious people spoke to God, and crazy people imagined that God spoke back."

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Vladimir Nabokov
"The kind of poem I produced in those days was hardly anything more than a sign I made of being alive, of passing or having passed, or hoping to pass, through certain intense human emotions. It was a phenomenon of orientation rather than of art, thus comparable to stripes of paint on a roadside rock or to a pillared heap of stones marking a mountain trail. But then, in a sense, all poetry is positional: to try to express one's position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge. Tentacles, not wings, are Apollo's natural members. Vivian Bloodmark, a philosophical friend of mine, in later years, used to say that while the scientist sees everything that happens in one point of space, the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"No free man needs a God; but was I free?How fully I felt nature glued to meAnd how my childish palate loved the tasteHalf-fish, half-honey, of that golden paste!My picture book was at an early ageThe painted parchment papering our cage:Mauve rings around the moon; blood-orange sun;Twinned Iris; and that rare phenomenonThe iridule - when, beautiful and strange,In a bright sky above a mountain rangeOne opal cloudlet in an oval formReflects the rainbow of a thunderstormWhich in a distant valley has been staged -For we are most artistically caged."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"To play safe, I prefer to accept only one type of power: the power of art over trash, the triumph of magic over the brute."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"Treading the soil of the moon, palpating its pebbles, tasting the panic and splendor of the event, feeling in the pit of one's stomach the separation from terra... these form the most romantic sensation an explorer has ever known..."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"You forget, my good man, that what the artist perceives is, primarily, the difference between things. It is the vulgar who note their resemblance."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"We are liable to miss the best of life if we do not know how to tingle, if we do not learn to hoist ourselves just a little higher than we generally are in order to sample the rarest and ripest fruit of art which human thought has to offer."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"Every author believes, when his first book is published, that those that acclaim it are his personal friends or impersonal peers, while its revilers can only be envious rogues and nonentities."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air."
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Vladimir Nabokov
"I could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. Her inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies - every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning. Everything seemed yellowly blurred, illusive, lost."
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