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b.club
Look Book
One, one Would you be mine, would you be my baby tonight Could be kissing my fruit punch lips in the bright sunshine 'Cause I like you quite a lot, everything you got don't you know It's you that I adore, though I make the boys fall like dominoes Kiss me in the d.a.r.k. dark tonight D.a.r.k. do it my way Kiss me in the p.a.r.k. park tonight P.a.r.k. let them all say
I want my cake and I want to eat it too. I want to have fun and be in love with you I know that I'm a mess with my........ I don't care what they say about me, what they say about me Because I know that it's L.O.V.E. You make me happy, you make me happy And I never listen to anyone
my long hair
my suntan
short dress
Vladimir Nabokov
Lolita
Perhaps
somewhere
some day
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“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
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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. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.�
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