Nabokov's Dozen

And there are things that are hard to talk about—you'll rub off their marvelous pollen at the touch of a word.

What is this jest in majesty? This ass in passion? How do God and Devil combine to form a live dog?

Commonsense has trampled down many a gentle genius whose eyes had delighted in a premature moonbeam of some rarer truth; commonsense has back-kicked dirt at the loveliest of queer paintings because a blue tree seemed madness to its well-meaning hoof.