Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

– Vladimir Nabokov

I’ve never read a book so outrageously horrifying and beautiful and tender all at once. And funny. It’s brilliant. It’s insane. It’s a masterpiece! If I was the kind that could stay up all night I’d have finished this book by now.  But I am not. I am the kind that drops dead by two in the  morning. But it is actually morning  now, and only 12, and I have pretty much the whole day to read in.





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