“Where the devil did you get her?""I beg your pardon?""I said: the weather is getting better.""Seems so.""Who's the lassie?""My daughter.""You lie - she's not.""I beg your pardon?""I said: July was hot.”

“My Carmen," I said (I used to call her that sometimes) "we shall leave this raw sore town as soon as you get out of bed." "... Because, really," I continued, "there is no point in staying here." "There is no point in staying anywhere," said Lolita.”

“On Translating Eugene Onegin 1What is translation? On a platterA poet's pale and glaring head,A parrot's screech, a monkey's chatter,And profanation of the dead.The parasites you were so hard onAre pardoned if I have your pardon,O, Pushkin, for my stratagem:I traveled down your secret stem,And reached the root, and fed upon it;Then, in a language newly learned,I grew another stalk and turnedYour stanza patterned on a sonnet,Into my honest roadside prose--All thorn, but cousin to your rose.2Reflected words can only shiverLike elongated lights that twistIn the black mirror of a riverBetween the city and the mist.Elusive Pushkin! Persevering,I still pick up Tatiana's earring,Still travel with your sullen rake.I find another man's mistake,I analyze alliterationsThat grace your feasts and haunt the greatFourth stanza of your Canto Eight.This is my task--a poet's patienceAnd scholastic passion blent:Dove-droppings on your monument.”

“- Might it console you to know that I expect nothing but torture from her return? That I regard you as a bird of paradise?She shook her head.- That my admiration for you is painfully strong?- I want Van – she cried – and not intangible admiration.- Intangible? You goose. You my gauge it, you may brush it once very lightly with the knuckles of you gloved hand. I said knuckles. I said once. That will do. I can't kiss you. Not even your burning face. Good-bye, pet. Tell Edmond to take a nap after he returns. I shall need him at two in the morning.”

“I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze I cannot get out, said the starling”

“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.”

“I am sentimental,’ she said. ‘I could dissect a koala but not its baby. I like the words damozel, eglantine, elegant. I love when you kiss my elongated white hand.”