"It occurred to me that if I were really losing my mind, I might end by murdering somebody."

"For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me."

"I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais!"

"Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness."

"…My Lolita remarked, ‘You know, what’s so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own’; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about my darling’s mind and that quite possibly, behind the awful juvenile cliches, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate—dim and adorable regions which happened to be lucidly and absolutely forbidden to me, in my polluted rags and miserable convulsions…"