Vladimir Nabokov. Terror : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Terror
r it became why this should be "I," the harder I found it to make the face in the mirror merge with that "I" whose identity I failed to grasp. When I spoke of my odd sensations, people justly observed that the path I had taken led to the madhouse. In point of fact, once or twice, late at night, I peered so lengthily at my reflection that a creepy feeling came over me and I put out the light in a hurry. Yet next morning, while shaving, it would never occur to me to question the reality of my image.
Another thing: at night, in bed, I would abruptly remember that I was mortal. What then took place within my mind was much the same as happens in a huge theater if the l