Lolita
Vladimir Nabokov, 1955
Σύγχρονη πεζογραφία Λογοτεχνική πεζογραφίαΡομαντικάΝεανικά
Ατμόσφαιρα: ανησυχία.
Μια σελίδα από το βιβλίο
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. Βιβλία με παρόμοια αίσθηση
Πού θα το βρεις
Από κάποιους από αυτούς τους συνδέσμους παίρνουμε μια μικρή προμήθεια, χωρίς επιπλέον κόστος για σένα. Έτσι το BookFeed μένει δωρεάν.
Ερωτήσεις αναγνωστών
- Πώς είναι το «Lolita»;
- Ατμόσφαιρα: ανησυχία.
- Τι να διαβάσω μετά το «Lolita»;
- Αν σου άρεσε το «Lolita», δοκίμασε «Το κορίτσι του τρένου» (Paula Hawkins), «American Psycho» (Bret Easton Ellis) και «Matched» (Ally Condie).
Μια γεύση από τη ροή
Ένα σπίτι που δεν μπορείς να πάψεις να κοιτάζεις, όσο κι αν σε πληγώνει.
I lived at number twenty-three Blenheim Road for five years, blissfully happy and utterly wretched. I can’t look at it now. That was my first home. Not my parents’ place, not a flatshare with other students, my first home. I can’t bear to look at it. Well, I can, I do, I want to, I don’t want to, I try not to. Every day I tell myself not to look, and every day I look. I can’t help myself, even though there is nothing I want to see there, even though anything I do see will hurt me.
Το κορίτσι του τρένου · Paula Hawkins
The hunger of waiting for a touch that might undo you.
I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don’t know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.
Matched · Ally Condie
What it costs to sleep through a year you don’t want to live.
I had started “hibernating” as best I could in mid-June of 2000. I was twenty-four years old. I watched summer die and autumn turn cold and gray through a broken slat in the blinds. My muscles withered. The sheets on my bed yellowed, although I usually fell asleep in front of the television on the sofa, which was from Pottery Barn and striped blue and white and sagging and covered in coffee and sweat stains.
My Year of Rest and Relaxation · Ottessa Moshfegh
Διάβασε σελίδες από βιβλία σαν αυτό, μία τη φορά
Συνέχισε στη ροή