Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "QUESTIONNAIRE"
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Входимость: 1. Размер: 53кб.
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Входимость: 1. Размер: 10кб.
Часть текста: момент, который, может быть, помогает мне, — я подвержен приступам веры в сбивающие с толку предрассудки: число, сон, случайное совпадение могут подействовать на меня, стать для меня чем-то навязчивым — не в плане абсурдных страхов, а как пример непонятной (в целом довольно стесняющей) научной загадки, которую невозможно сформулировать, а тем более решить. Ваша жизнь превзошла ожидания, которые были у вас в юности? Моя жизнь намного превзошла амбиции детства и юности. В первом десятилетии нашего уходящего века, путешествуя со своей семьей по Западной Европе, я думал, лежа ночью под экзотическим эвкалиптом, что значит быть изгнанником, тоскующим по далекой, грустной и (точный эпитет!) неутолимой России. Ленин и политика, проводимая им, чудесным образом реализовали эту фантазию. В двенадцать лет моей любимой мечтой была поездка в Каракорум в поисках бабочек. Двадцать пять лет спустя я успешно отправил себя, в роли отца героя (см. мой роман «Дар»), обследовать с сачком в руке горы Центральной Азии. В пятнадцать летя представлял себя всемирно известным семидесятилетним автором с волнистой седой гривой. Сегодня я практически лыс. Если бы пожелания в день рождения были связаны только с лошадьми, что бы вы пожелали себе? Пегаса, только...
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Часть текста: in a few days, having exceeded the Biblical three score and ten. How does this feat, if it is a feat, impress you? "Three score and ten" sounded, no doubt, very venerable in the days when life expectancy hardly reached one half of that length. Anyway, Petersburgan pediatricians never thought I might perform the feat you mention: a feat of lucky endurance, of paradoxically detached will power, of good work and good wine, of healthy concentration on a rare bug or a rhythmic phrase. Another thing that might have been of some help is the fact that I am subject to the embarrassing qualms of superstition: a number, a dream, a coincidence can affect roe obsessively-- though not in the sense of absurd fears but as fabulous (and on the whole rather bracing) scientific enigmas incapable of being stated, let alone solved. Has your life thus far come up to expectations you bad for yourself as a young man? My life thus far has surpassed splendidly the ambitions of boyhood and youth. In the first decade of our dwindling century, during trips with my family to Western Europe, I imagined, in bedtime reveries, what it would be like to become an exile who longed for a remote, sad, and (right epithet coming) unquenchable Russia, under the eucalipti of exotic resorts. Lenin and his police nicely arranged the realization of that fantasy. At the age of twelve my fondest dream was a visit to the Karakorum range in search of butterflies. Twenty-five years later I successfully sent myself, in the part of my hero's father (see my novel The Gift) to explore, net in hand, the mountains of Central Asia. At fifteen I visualized myself as a world-famous author of seventy with a mane of wavy white hair. Today I am practically bald. If birthday wishes were horses, what would yours be for yourself? Pegasus, only Pegasus. You are,...
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Часть текста: not dare be too tender with cornered Lolita yet, and therefore agreed it was not worth while tearing the child away from her beloved Camp Q. My soi-disant passionate and lonely Charlotte was in everyday life matter-of-fact and gregarious. Moreover, I discovered that although she could not control her heart or her cries, she was a woman of principle. Immediately after she had become more or less my mistress (despite the stimulants, her “nervous, eager chri a heroic chri ! had some initial trouble, for which, however, he amply compensated her by a fantastic display of old-world endearments), good Charlotte interviewed me about my relations with God. I could have answered that on that score my mind was open; I said, insteadpaying my tribute to a pious platitudethat I believed in a cosmic spirit. Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. I countered by inquiring whether she would still want to marry me if my father’s maternal grandfather had been, say, a Turk. She said it did not matter a bit; but that, if she ever found out I did not believe in Our Christian God, she would commit suicide. She said it so solemnly that it gave me the creeps. It was then I knew she was a woman of principle. Oh, she was very genteel: she said “excuse me” whenever a slight burp interrupted her flowing speech, called an envelope and ahnvelope, and when talking to her lady-friends referred to me as Mr. Humbert. I thought it would please her if I entered the community trailing some glamour after me. On the day of our wedding a little interview with me appeared in the Society Column of the Ramsdale Journal , with a photograph of...