It was the world that was absent-minded and it was Pnin whose business it was to set it straight. His life was a constant war with insensate objects that fell apart, or attacked him, or refused to function, or viciously got themselves lost as soon as they entered the sphere of his existence.
The zipper a gentleman depends on most would come loose in his puzzled hand at some nightmare moment of haste and despair.
he preferred reading his lectures, his gaze glued to his text, in a slow, monotonous baritone that seemed to climb one of those interminable flights of stairs used by people who dread elevators.
纳博科夫讲话好好笑啊啊啊
our friend applied himself to the pleasant task of Pninizing his new quarters.
第一次看到写拔牙坑写得这么生动的!