“The stars that sparkled, and the cars that parkled, and the bars, and the barmen, were presently taken over by her”

“Lolita: Oh my Carmen, my little Carmen…Humbert: Charmin’ Carmen. Started garglin’Lolita: I remember those sultry nightsHumbert: Those pre-raphaelitesLolita: No, come on. And the stars and the cars and the bars and the barmen.Humbert: And the bars that sparkled and the cars that parkled…And the curs that barkled and the birds that larkled.Lolita: And oh my charmin, our dreadful fightsHumbert: Such dreadful blightsLolita: And the something town where arm in…arm, we went, and our final row, and the gun I killed you with, o my Carmen…the gun I am holding now”

“I believe the poor fierce-eyed child had figured out that with a mere fifty dollars in her purse she might somehow reach Broadway or Hollywood - or the foul kitchen of a diner (Help Wanted) in a dismal ex-prairie state, with the wind blowing, and the stars blinking, and the cars, and the bars, and the barmen, and everything soiled, torn, dead.”

“Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.Age: five thousand three hundred days.Profession: none, or "starlet"Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?Why are you hiding, darling?(I Talk in a daze, I walk in a mazeI cannot get out, said the starling).Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?What make is the magic carpet?Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?And where are you parked, my car pet?Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?Still one of those blue-capped star-men?Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!Are you still dancin', darlin'?(Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,And I, in my corner, snarlin').Happy, happy is gnarled McFateTouring the States with a child wife,Plowing his Molly in every StateAmong the protected wild life.My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,And never closed when I kissed her.Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?Are you from Paris, mister?L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.And again my hairy fist I raise,And again I hear you crying.Officer, officer, there they go--In the rain, where that lighted store is!And her socks are white, and I love her so,And her name is Haze, Dolores.Officer, officer, there they are--Dolores Haze and her lover!Whip out your gun and follow that car.Now tumble out and take cover.Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.Ninety pounds is all she weighsWith a height of sixty inches.My car is limping, Dolores Haze,And the last long lap is the hardest,And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,And the rest is rust and stardust.”

“A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own.”

“In a nervous and slender-leaved mimosa grove at the back of their villa we found a perch on the ruins of a low stone wall. She trembled and twitched as I kissed the corner of her parted lips and the hot lobe of her ear. A cluster of stars palely glowed above us between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own. Her legs, her lovely live legs, were not too close together, and when my hand located what it sought, a dreamy and eerie expression, half-pleasure, half-pain, came over those childish features. She sat a little higher than I, and whenever in her solitary ecstasy she was led to kiss me, her head would bend with a sleepy, soft, drooping movement that was almost woeful, and her bare knees caught and compressed my wrist, and slackened again; and her quivering mouth, distorted by the acridity of some mysterious potion, with a sibilant intake of breath came near to my face. She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward fist the scepter of my passion.”

“During the two months of our stay at Biarritz, my passion for Colette all but surpassed my passion for Cleopatra. Since my parents were not keen to meet hers, I saw her only on the beach; but I thought of her constantly. If I noticed she had been crying, I felt a surge of helpless anguish that brought tears to my own eyes. I could not destroy the mosquitoes that had left their bites on her frail neck, but I could, and did, have a successful fistfight with a red-haired boy who had been rude to her. She used to give me warm handfuls of hard candy. One day, as we were bending together over a starfish, and Colette's ringlets were tickling my ear, she suddenly turned toward me and kissed me on the cheek. So great was my emotion that all I could think of saying was, 'You little monkey.”