Lolita

Humbert:
I missed you. I missed you a lot.

Lolita:
Well I haven't missed you. In fact, I've been revoltingly unfaithful to you. But it doesn't matter, because you don't care about me anymore anyway.

Humbert:
What makes you think I don't care about you?

Lolita:
Well you haven't kissed me yet, have you?

Lolita:
Murder me! Murder me like you murdered my mother!

Humbert:
What I heard then was the melody of children at play. Nothing but that. And I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita's absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that chorus.

Humbert:
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. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo... Lee... Ta.

Humbert:
We had been everywhere. We had really seen nothing.

Clare Quilty:
He can smell if you're sweet. He likes sweet young people. People like you.

Humbert:
A normal man, given a group photograph of school girls and asked to point out the loveliest one, will not necessarily choose the nymphet among them.

Charlotte Haze:
I asked you to make your bed. Didn't I?

Lolita:
No. You asked me if I'd made my bed.

Lolita:
I feel like we're grown-ups.

Humbert:
Me, too.

Lolita:
We get to do whatever we want, right?

Humbert:
Whatever we want.

Miss Pratt:
I know you have accepted a post at Beardsley College, and I know that there, academics are first, last, and always. Well, that's not us, Mister Humper. Here at Beardsley Prep... what we stress are the three Ds. Dramatics, Dancing, and Dating.

Humbert:
I was not quite prepared for the reality of my dual role. On the one hand, the willing corruptor of an innocent, and on the other, Humbert the happy housewife.

Miss Pratt:
She's a lovely child, Mr. Haze, but the onset of sexual maturing seems to be giving her trouble. It is the general impression that 14-year-old Dolores is morbidly disinterested in sexual matters.

Humbert:
How are the piano lessons going?

Lolita:
Fine. Great. Excellent. Wonderful. Perfect.

Humbert:
Especially since you missed the last two.

Humbert:
The shock of her death froze something in me. The child I loved was gone, but I kept looking for her - long after I had left my own childhood behind. The poison was in the wound, you see. And the wound wouldn't heal.

Lolita:
You look one hundred percent better when I can't see you.

Lolita:
Wait a sec. You're telling me we're sleeping in one room? With one bed?

Humbert:
I've asked them to bring up a cot, which I'll use if you like.

Lolita:
You're crazy.

Humbert:
Why, my darling?

Lolita:
Because, my darrr-ling, when my darrr-ling mother finds out she'll divorce you and strangle me.

Humbert:
Lo, listen a moment. For all intents and purposes I am your father and I am responsible for your welfare. We are not rich, so when we travel, we shall be - we shall uh... we shall be thrown together a great deal. And two people who enter into a cohabitation inevitably lead into a kind of...

Lolita:
The word is "incest".

Lolita:
I was a daisy fresh girl and look what you've done to me.

Humbert:
I looked and looked at her, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth. She was only the dead-leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago - but I loved her, this Lolita, pale and polluted and big with another man's child. She could fade and wither - I didn't care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face.

Humbert:
From here to that old car you know so well is a stretch of twenty-five paces. Make those twenty-five steps. With me. Now.

Lolita:
You're saying you'll give us the money if I go to a motel with you?

Humbert:
No, no, no. I mean leave here now, and come live with me. And die with me, and everything with me.

Lolita:
You're crazy.

Humbert:
What are you eating?

Lolita:
It's called a jawbreaker. It's supposed to break your jaw. Want one?

Clare Quilty:
Who is the girl?

Humbert:
She is my daughter.

Clare Quilty:
You lie, she is not.

Humbert:
I beg your pardon?

Clare Quilty:
I said "July was hot."

Clare Quilty:
Where the Devil did you get her?

Humbert:
What?

Clare Quilty:
I said, "The weather is getting better."

Humbert:
Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

Despite our tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise – a paradise whose skies were the colour of hell-flames – but still a paradise.