Witterings about lots of things.
Wandering around the shops today I saw a man walking very fast, carrying a bunch of red roses. Ah, Schmalentine’s Day. I’m a little envious of people who don’t have a fuck to give about this. I wish I could be so cold and unfeeling. I tend to go overboard with the paper heart bunting.... Continue Reading →
In the afterword to Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov wrote: "Every writer [...] is aware of this or that published book of his as a constant comforting presence. This presence, this glow of the book in an ever accessible remoteness is a most companionable feeling". Nabokov goes on to describe Lolita and his view of his completed... Continue Reading →
Amy Jardine 