(no subject)
"It may look as though I do not know how to start. Funny sight, the elderly gentleman who comes lumbering by, jowl flesh flopping, in a valiant dash for the last bus, which he eventually overtakes but is afraid to board in motion and so, with a sheepish smile, drops back, still going at a trot. Is it that I dare not make the leap? It roars, gathers speed, will presently vanish irrevocably around the corner, the bus, the motorbus, the mighty montibus of my tale. Rather bulky imagery, this. I am still running."
Two pages into Nabokov's Despair, and felt that this was quite beautiful and also very, very powerful.
Two pages into Nabokov's Despair, and felt that this was quite beautiful and also very, very powerful.