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А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И Й К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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1. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 23 - 27
Входимость: 3. Размер: 59кб.
2. Эссе о драматургии ("Playwriting", на английском языке)
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3. Lolita. Part Two. Chapters 22 - 26
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4. Полюс
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5. Lolita. Foreword
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6. Лекции о драме. Набоков Дмитрий: Набоков и театр
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7. Интервью Набокова на английском языке. BBC Television, 1962 г.
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8. Чарльз Кинбот: Серебристый свет. Подлинная жизнь Владимира Набокова. Chapter Ten. America
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9. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 1 - 8
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10. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter eight
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11. L. C. Higcins and N. D. Riley
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12. Lolita. Part Two. Chapters 27 - 31
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13. Интервью Набокова на английском языке. Bayerischer Rundfunk, 1971-72 г.
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14. Комментарий к роману "Евгений Онегин". Глава восьмая. Пункты V - XIV
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15. Articles about butterflies
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16. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 12 - 17
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17. Наринс Дж. В.: "Лолита", нарративная структура и предисловие Джона Рея
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18. Lolita. Part Two. Chapters 17 - 21
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19. Комментарий к роману "Евгений Онегин". Глава первая. Эпиграф, пункты I - V
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1. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 23 - 27
Входимость: 3. Размер: 59кб.
Часть текста: Rug-heap, car, old man-doll, Miss O.’s nurse running with a rustle, a half-empty tumbler in her hand, back to the screened porchwhere the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he laya banked banker so to speakwas not in a dead faint, but was comfortably and methodically recovering from a mild heart attack or its possibility; and, finally, that the laprobe on the sidewalk (where she had so often...
2. Эссе о драматургии ("Playwriting", на английском языке)
Входимость: 2. Размер: 59кб.
Часть текста: expressed certain thoughts differently. The lectures were partly in typescript and partly in manuscript, replete with Nabokov's corrections, additions, deletions, occasional slips of the pen, and references to previous and subsequent installments of the course. I have limited myself to what editing seemed necessary for the presentation of the lectures in essay form. If Nabokov had been alive, he might perhaps have performed more radical surgery. He might also have added that the gruesome throes of realistic suicide he finds unacceptable onstage (in "The Tragedy of Tragedy") are now everyday fare on kiddies' TV, while "adult" entertainment has long since outdone all the goriness of the Grand Guignol. He might have observed that the aberrations of theatrical method wherein the illusion of a barrier between stage and audience is shattered - a phenomenon he considered "freakish" - are now commonplace: actors wander and mix; the audience is invited to participate; it is then applauded by the players in a curious reversal of roles made chic by Soviet performers ordered to emulate the mise-en-sce´ne of party congresses; and the term "happening" has already managed to grow obsolescent. He might have commented that the quest for originality for its own sake has led to ludicrous excesses and things have taken their helter-skelter course in random theatre as they have in random music and in random painting. Yet Nabokov's own plays demonstrate that it is possible to respect the rules of drama and still be original, just as one can write original poetry without neglecting the basic requirements of prosody, or play brilliant tennis, to paraphrase T. S. Eliot, without taking down the net. There were those who considered Father's professorial persona odd and vaguely improper. Not only was he unsympathetic to the intrusion of administrative matters on the academic and to the use of valuable time for jovial participation in campus...
3. Lolita. Part Two. Chapters 22 - 26
Входимость: 2. Размер: 57кб.
Часть текста: crowed the cocky Gallic part of my brainand proceeded to rout the notion of a Lolita-maddened salesman or comedy gangster, with stooges, persecuting me, and hoaxing me, and otherwise taking riotous advantage of my strange relations with the law. I remember humming my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a nymphet, stop torturing me. An additional, abominable, and perfectly gratuitous worry was lovingly prepared for me in Elphinstone. Lo had been dull and silent during the last laptwo hundred mountainous miles uncontaminated by smoke-gray sleuths or zigzagging zanies. She hardly glanced at the famous, oddly shaped, splendidly flushed rock which jutted above the mountains and had been the take-off for nirvana on the part of a temperamental show girl. The town was newly built, or rebuilt, on the flat floor of a seven-thousand-foot-high valley; it would soon bore Lo, I hoped, and we would spin on to...
4. Полюс
Входимость: 1. Размер: 13кб.
Часть текста: Джонсон (спросонья) Ох... Капитан Скэт Проснулся? Как себя ты чувствуешь? Джонсон Да ничего... Занятно... Я словно на две части разделен: одна -- я сам -- сильна, ясна; другая -- цинга -- все хочет спать... Такая соня... Капитан Скэт Воды тебе не надо? Джонсон Нет,-- спасибо... И вот еще: мне как-то в детстве снилось,-- запомнилось -- что ноги у меня,-- как посмотрел я,-- превратились в ноги слона. (Смеется.) Теперь мой сон сбылся, пожалуй. А Кингсли -- как? Капитан Скэт Плох, кажется... Он бредил, теперь -- затих. Джонсон Когда мы все вернемся,-- устроим мы такой, такой обед,-- с индейкою,-- а главное, с речами, речами... Капитан Скэт Знаем,-- за индейку сам сойдешь, когда напьешься хорошенько? А, Джонсон?.. Спит уже... Флэминг Но ты подумай,-- двенадцать миль до берега, до бухты, где ждет, склонив седые мачты набок, корабль наш... между синих льдин! Так ясно его я вижу!.. Капитан Скэт Что же делать, Флэминг... Не повезло нам. Вот и все... Флэминг И только двенадцать миль!.. Хозяин,-- я не знаю -- как думаешь -- когда б утихла буря, могли бы мы, таща больных на санках, дойти?.. Капитан Скэт Едва ли... Флэминг Так. А если б... Если б их не было? Капитан Скэт Оставим это... Мало ль, что можно допустить... Друг, посмотри-ка, который час. Флэминг Ты прав, Хозяин... Шесть минут второго... Капитан Скэт Что же, мы до ночи продержимся... Ты...
5. Lolita. Foreword
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Часть текста: for print. Mr. Clark’s decision may have been influenced by the fact that the editor of his choice had just been awarded the Poling Prize for a modest work (“Do the Senses make Sense?”) wherein certain morbid states and perversions had been discussed. My task proved simpler than either of us had anticipated. Save for the correction of obvious solecisms and a careful suppression of a few tenacious details that despite “H. H.”‘s own efforts still subsisted in his text as signposts and tombstones (indicative of places or persons that taste would conceal and compassion spare), this remarkable memoir is presented intact. Its author’s bizarre cognomen is his own invention; and, of course, this maskthrough which two hypnotic eyes seem to glowhad to remain unlifted in accordance with its wearer’s wish. While “Haze” only rhymes with the heroine’s real surname, her first name is too closely interwound with the inmost fiber of the book to allow one to alter it; nor (as the reader will perceive for himself) is there...
6. Лекции о драме. Набоков Дмитрий: Набоков и театр
Входимость: 1. Размер: 47кб.
Часть текста: а не сходство. Его интересовали одинокие пики, а не плоские плато. Выискивать лейтмотивы и иные переклички в произведениях отдельного автора — еще одно притягательное, но заведомо скучное занятие. Все же отдельные образы и темы, которые полыхают отраженными вспышками среди набоковских вершин, безусловно заслуживают комментария, поскольку высвечивают основные грани его книг. Глубинным подтекстом многих сочинений отца, который ощущается как подводное течение и во всех его драматических произведениях, является театральность вещей, обманчивость вымышленной реальности: нам дают возможность проникнуть сквозь завесу вымышленного мира, заглянуть в его закулисную жизнь, его подоплеку. «Бутафорство» того, что открывается взгляду, может оказаться (по авторской воле) не самого высшего разбора — но таково и есть нутро настоящего театра; он может отвлечь, дать нам передышку от очередного тягостного кошмара, который разыгрывается вне сцены; или растревожить, наведя на мысль, что хотя весь мир — театр, сцена стала миром, сущность которого не сводится к одному лишь развитию действия пьесы или романа на очевидных уровнях, миром, где случается усомниться даже в реальности нереального. В пьесах отца есть поразительные примеры такой слоистой реальности: это «альтернативный» финал «Изобретения Вальса» — пьесы, которая, в определенном смысле, представляет собой сон главного героя, им же направляемый; это ключевая сцена «События», где на один хрупкий, волшебный миг, попав в совершенно иное измерение, второстепенные персонажи превращаются в раскрашенные декорации, а Трощейкин с женой открывают, может статься, свои подлинные «я», при этом мы с особой остротой воспринимаем то, что один рецензент назвал «сомнамбулической атмосферой»; это последняя страница «Дедушки», где ...
7. Интервью Набокова на английском языке. BBC Television, 1962 г.
Входимость: 1. Размер: 20кб.
Часть текста: 22, 1962). I have mislaid the cards on which I had written my answers. I suspect that the published text was taken straight from the tape for it teems with inaccuracies. These I have tried to weed out ten years later but was forced to strike out a few sentences here and there when memory refused to restore the sense flawed by defective or improperly mended speech. The poem I quote (with metrical accents added) will be found translated into English in Chapter Two of The Gift, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1963. Would you ever go back to Russia? I will never go back, for the simple reason that all the Russia I need is always with me: literature, language, and my own Russian childhood. I will never return. I will never surrender. And anyway, the grotesque shadow of a police state will not be dispelled in my lifetime. I don't think they know my works there-- oh, perhaps a number of readers exist there in my special secret service, but let us not forget that Russia has grown tremendously provincial during these forty years, apart from the fact that people there are told what to read, what to think. In America I'm happier...
8. Чарльз Кинбот: Серебристый свет. Подлинная жизнь Владимира Набокова. Chapter Ten. America
Входимость: 1. Размер: 10кб.
Часть текста: whom I did not immediately recognize despite the rectangle of cardstock he held chest-high with my adopted moniker carefully lettered on it. He was so young I looked right past him, toward an elderly gentleman in a dark uniform who corresponded to the mental image of natty chauffeur I had formed during the crossing. When I accosted him with a question and a questioning expression, he shook his head and stared past me, as if I weren't there. I gathered from his stony rebuff that I was only one in a series of persons to have mistaken him for their driver. Looking around, I spotted the person I had previously missed, and marveled at my having missed not only my new name, prominently displayed, but at my having failed to notice and acknowledge such an attractive youth. The blond lock covering his forehead almost obscured his electric blue eyes. He wore a very long, very shaggy overcoat of sorts, unbuttoned, and a crisp light blue oxford shirt, the tails of which were tucked into incongruously soiled dungarees. Grease from the machine shop? Dirt from a good-natured game of Fuss in the yard? I introduced myself by pointing mutely at the sign, then at my own breast. "Doctor Kinbot?" he asked, uncertain. I smiled. " Kinbote ," good sir, "the o is long, like das Boot in German, or, or the French ?ter ." He apologized as I clasped his hand, which was warm and wet (from holding the sign? from...
9. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 1 - 8
Входимость: 1. Размер: 53кб.
Часть текста: the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns. 2 I was born in 1910, in Paris. My father was a gentle, easy-going person, a salad of racial genes: a Swiss citizen, of mixed French and Austrian descent, with a dash of the Danube in his veins. I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy-blue picture-postcards. He owned a luxurious hotel on the Riviera. His father and two grandfathers had sold wine, jewels and silk, respectively. At thirty he married an English girl, daughter of Jerome Dunn, the alpinist, and granddaughter of two Dorset parsons, experts in obscure subjectspaleopedology and Aeolian harps, respectively. My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges. My mother’s elder sister, Sybil, whom a cousin of my father’s had married and then neglected, served in my immediate family as a kind of unpaid...
10. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter eight
Входимость: 1. Размер: 71кб.
Часть текста: in it the Muse   opened a banquet of young fancies, 12  sang childish gaieties,   and glory of our ancientry,   and the heart's tremulous dreams. II   And with a smile the world received her;   the first success provided us with wings;   the aged Derzhavin noticed us — and blessed us   4  as he descended to the grave.   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   8  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III   And I, setting myself for law   only the arbitrary will of passions,   sharing emotions with the crowd,   4  I led my frisky Muse into the hubbub   of feasts and turbulent discussions —   the terror of midnight patrols;   and to them, in mad feasts,   8  she brought her gifts,   and like a little bacchante frisked,   over the bowl sang for the guests;   and the young people of past days 12  would turbulently dangle after her;   and I was proud 'mong friends   of my volatile mistress. IV   But I dropped out of their alliance —   and fled...