Часть текста: where I feel mentally and emotionally at home. Rightly or wrongly, I am not one of those perfectionists who by dint of hypercriticizing America find themselves wallowing in the same muddy camp with indigenous rascals and envious foreign observers. My admiration for this adopted country of mine can easily survive the jolts and flaws that: , indeed, are nothing in comparison to the abyss of evil in the history of Russia, not to speak of other, more exotic, countries. In the poem "To My Soul, "you wrote, possibly of yourself, as "a provincial naturalist, an eccentric lost in paradise. " This appears to link your interest in butterflies to other aspects of your life, writing, for instance. Do you feel that you are "an eccentric lost in paradise"? An eccentric is a person whose mind and senses are excited by things that the average citizen does not even notice. And, per contra, the average eccentric-- for there are many of us, of diffйrent waters and magnitudes-- is utterly baffled and bored by the adjacent tourist who boasts of his business connections. In that sense, I often feel lost; but then, other people feel lost in my presence too. And I also know, as a good eccentric should, that the dreary old fellow who has been telling me all about the rise of mortgage interest rates may suddenly turn out to be the greatest living authority on springtails or tumblebugs. Dreams of flight or escape recur in many of your poems and stories. Is this a reflection of your own years of wandering? Yes, in part. The odd fact, however, is that in my early childhood, long before the tremendously dull peripatetics of Revolution and Civil War set in, I suffered from nightmares...

2. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 1 - 8

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Часть текста: 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 governess and housekeeper. Somebody told me later that she had been in love with my father, and that he had lightheartedly taken advantage of it one rainy day and forgotten it by the time the weather cleared. I was extremely fond of her, despite the rigiditythe fatal rigidityof some of her rules. Perhaps she wanted...

3. Интервью Набокова на английском языке. The Paris Review, 1967 г.

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Часть текста: of the relationship between Humbert Humbert and Lolita is very strong. In Hollywood and New York, however, relationships are frequent between men of forty and girls very little older than Lolita. They marry-- to no particular public outrage; rather, public cooing. No, it is not my sense of the immorality of the Humbert Humbert-Lolita relationship that is strong; it is Humbert's sense. He cares, I do not. I do not give a damn for public morals, in America or elsewhere. And, anyway, cases of men in their forties marrying girls in their teens or early twenties have no bearing on Lolita whatever. Humbert was fond of "little girls"-- not simply "young girls." Nymphets are girl-children, not starlets and "sex kittens." Lolita was twelve, not eighteen, when Humbert met her. You may remember that by the time she is fourteen, he refers to her as his "aging mistress." One critic has said about you that "his feelings are like no one else's. " Does this make sense to you? Or does it mean that you know your feelings better than others know theirs? Or that you have discovered yourself at other levels? Or simply that your history is unique? I do not recall that article; but if a critic makes such a statement, it must surely mean that he has explored the feelings of literally millions of people, in at least three countries, before reaching his conclusion. If so, lama rare fowl indeed. If, on the other hand, he has merely...

4. Савельева В.В.: Художественная гипнология и онейропоэтика русских писателей. Приложение

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Часть текста: которое описано литературным материалом» (“The purposes of such studies are not to use the psychological methods for the literary analysis, but to use the literary methods in order to analyze the psychological phenomenon, which is described in the literary text”) [20, с.9]. These studies are interdisciplinary, for they are situated on the boundaries of different academic fields, such as physiology, medicine, philosophy, psychology, literary and cultural studies, and semiotics. V.M.Kovalzon, The Doctor of Biology and a member of the International Association for the Study of Dreams, defines the process of sleeping as “...особое генетически детерминированное состояние организма человека и других теплокровных животных (т.е. млекопитающих и птиц), характеризующееся закономерной последовательной сменой определенных полиграфических картин в виде циклов, фаз и стадий» (“.a special, genetically determined state of the human body and the body of other warm-blooded animals (mammals and birds), which is characterized by the logical succession of certain multi-graphic pictures in the form of cycles, phases and stages” ) [6, с.311]. The process of sleeping is inevitably accompanied by the phases of dreams, which some scholars describe as the period of paradoxical sleeping. According to J.M. Lotman, a dream is «семиотическое зеркало, и каждый видит в нем отражение своего языка» (“.a semiotic mirror, and everyone beholds in it the reflection of his or her own language”) [9, с.124]. V. N. Toporov, while chronologically cataloguing literary dreams from the texts of I. S. Turgenev, proposed to classify them according to...

5. Lolita. Part Two. Chapters 1 - 2

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Часть текста: and every now and then I would take a bed-and-cot or twin-bed cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine...

6. Брайан Бойд. Владимир Набоков: русские годы. Глава 8. Превращение в Сирина: Кембридж, 1919–1922

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Часть текста: внутренней свободой, чтобы выйти наружу, в незнакомый мир? Что касается меня, я чувствовал себя вполне уютно там, где я был, — за своим письменным столом, в комнате, снятой внаем. Но впрочем, я не типичный эмигрант. Я очень нетипичный эмигрант, который сомневается в том, что типичный эмигрант вообще существует. В. Набоков. Из интервью 1966 года 1 ГЛАВА 8 Превращение в Сирина: Кембридж, 1919–1922 Не знаю, поедет ли кто-нибудь и когда-нибудь в Кембридж, чтобы отыскать следы шипов, оставленные моими футбольными бутсами… «Память, говори» I Беженцев на борту «Надежды» не кормили, и им пришлось довольствоваться собственными припасами — колбасой, яйцами, хлебом. На исходе второго дня вдали показался Константинополь и «пропал в сумраке ночи, опередившей судно». На следующий день — 17 апреля 1919 года — Владимир, рано поднявшись со своей жесткой скамьи, увидел восход солнца над Босфором, корабли, застывшие, словно в янтаре, и далекие минареты. Поскольку Константинополь уже был переполнен беженцами, пассажиры «Надежды» не получили разрешения сойти на берег. Лишь после двухдневной стоянки, когда минареты стали казаться фабричными трубами, судно двинулось дальше, через Мраморное море 2 . Еще два дня спустя «Надежда» вошла в афинский порт Пирей. Хотя у пассажиров кончились продовольствие и вода, корабль на двое суток поставили на карантин в Пирейской бухте, и лишь в день двадцатилетия ...

7. Комментарий к роману "Евгений Онегин". Глава седьмая. Эпиграфы, пункты I - XX

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Часть текста: любима, Где равную тебе сыскать? Дмитриев Как не любить родной Москвы? Баратынский Гоненье на Москву! что значит видеть свет! Где ж лучше? Где нас нет. Грибоедов Первый эпиграф взят из поэмы Дмитриева «Освобождение Москвы» (1795). стихи 11–12. В начальных строках пушкинской «Вольности», наиболее значительной из русских од (сочиненной в 1817 г.): Беги, сокройся от очей, Цитеры слабая царица! — наш поэт слегка переиначил стихи 3–4 ничтожного «Освобождения Москвы» Дмитриева (1613 г. — конец эпохи Смутного времени, освобождение от поляков и самозванцев, когда князь Дмитрий Пожарский разбил литовцев и первый Романов был избран на царство): Не шумны петь хочу забавы, Не сладости цитерских уз. Поэма Дмитриева (162 стиха, написанных четырехстопным ямбом) печально знаменита, кстати, самым чудовищным во всей русской поэзии нагромождением согласных (стих 14): Алмазный скиптр в твоих руках… птрвтв! Второй эпиграф седьмой главы — из «Пиров» Баратынского (1821), стих 52 (см. коммент. к гл. 3, XXX, 1). Третий же взят из грибоедовского «Горя от ума» (законченного в 1824 г.), I, VII, ядовитый упрек Софьи и находчивая реплика Чацкого (см. коммент. к гл. 6, XI, 12). По мере чтения комментария к этой главе читателю станет ясно, почему я полагаю, что Пушкин мог бы поставить и четвертый эпиграф — из «Княгини Натальи Долгорукой» Козлова, ч. II, строфа IV: …Москва видна… Уже в очах Иван Великой; Как жар, венец его горит… «Иван Великий» — название самой высокой колокольни в Москве:...

8. Интервью Набокова на английском языке. BBC Television, 1962 г.

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Часть текста: moisture on brookside mud at various spots of the mountain trail. Pictures were taken of the swarms that arose at my passage, and other hours of the day were devoted to the reproduction of the interview proper. It eventually appeared on the Bookstand program and was published in The Listener (November 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 than in any other country. It is in America that I found my best readers, minds that are closest to mine. I feel intellectually at home in America. It is a second home in the true sense of the word. You're a professional...

9. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter four

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Часть текста: la nature des choses. Necker VII The less we love a woman the easier 'tis to be liked by her, and thus more surely we undo her 4 among bewitching toils. Time was when cool debauch was lauded as the art of love, trumpeting everywhere about itself, 8 taking its pleasure without loving. But that grand game is worthy of old sapajous of our forefathers' vaunted times; 12 the fame of Lovelaces has faded with the fame of red heels and of majestic periwigs. VIII Who does not find it tedious to dissemble; diversely to repeat the same; try gravely to convince one 4 of what all have been long convinced; to hear the same objections, annihilate the prejudices which never had and hasn't 8 a little girl of thirteen years! Who will not grow weary of threats, entreaties, vows, feigned fear, notes running to six pages, 12 betrayals, gossiping, rings, tears, surveillances of aunts, of mothers, and the onerous friendship of husbands!...

10. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 9 - 11

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Часть текста: which I put in seldom less than fifteen hours of work daily. As I look back on those days, I see them divided tidily into ample light and narrow shade: the light pertaining to the solace of research in palatial libraries, the shade to my excruciating desires and insomnias of which enough has been said. Knowing me by now, the reader can easily imagine how dusty and hot I got, trying to catch a glimpse of nymphets (alas, always remote) playing in Central Park, and how repulsed I was by the glitter of deodorized career girls that a gay dog in one of the offices kept unloading upon me. Let us skip all that. A dreadful breakdown sent me to a sanatorium for more than a year; I went back to my workonly to be hospitalized again. Robust outdoor life seemed to promise me some relief. One of my favorite doctors, a charming cynical chap with a little brown beard, had a brother, and this brother was about to lead an expedition into arctic Canada. I was attached to it as a “recorder of psychic reactions.” With two young botanists and an old carpenter I shared now and then (never very successfully) the favors of one of our nutritionists, a Dr. Anita Johnsonwho was soon flown back, I am glad to say. I had little notion of what object the expedition was...

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Cлово "LOST"