He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real.

Never hold the sins of the father against the son. For the son is innocent of all wrongs

Cultural constraints are likely to change with time.

A bowling ball rolled through his head, diagonally from nape to temple; it paused and started back.

Written By Vladimir Nabokov

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