... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple. — Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
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... she had painted her lips and was holding in her hollowed hands a beautiful, banal, Eden-red apple.

— Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
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formalism literature lolita

More “Formalism” Quotes

Wings are a constraint that makes it possible to fly. — Robert Bringhurst, The Tree Of Meaning: Thirteen Talks
If there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of bein — Antonin Artaud, The Theater and Its Double