Lolita

Quilty: "Where the devil did you get her?"
Humbert: "I beg your pardon?"
Quilty: "I said, 'The weather's getting better'."
Humbert: "Seems so."
Quilty: "Who's the lassie?"
Humbert: "Uhm... my daughter."
Quilty: "You lie, she is not."
Humbert: "What?"
Quilty: "I said 'July was hot'."

"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."

"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."

"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... Lolita..."