I appreciate being called a walnut . <| sep |> Lolita , light of my life , fire of my loins . My sin , my soul . Loleeta 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 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 girlchild . 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 , noblewinged seraphs , envied . Look at this tangle of thorns . The beauty of the prose in contrast to the subject matter is what really makes that book a complete mindfuck .