And neither is she the fragile child of a feminine novel. What drives me insane is the twofold nature of this nymphet – of every nymphet, perhaps; this mixture in my Lolita of tender dreamy childishness and a kind of eerie vulgarity. ibid.
I had had some experience in my lie of pedorosis; had visually possessed dappled nymphets in parks; had wedged my wary and bestial way into the hottest, most crowded corner of a city bus full of strap-hanging schoolchildren. But for almost three weeks I had been interrupted in all my pathetic machinations. ibid.
I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita for ever; but I also knew she would not be for ever Lolita. She would be thirteen on January 1. In two years or so she would cease being a nymphet and would turn into a ‘young girl’, and then, into a ‘college girl’ – that horror of horrors. ibid.
We are not sex fiends! We do not rape as good soldiers do. We are unhappy, mild, dog-eyed gentlemen, sufficiently well integrated to control our urge in the presence of adults, but ready to give years and years of life for one chance to touch a nymphet. ibid.
I was no unduly disturbed by her self-accusatory innuendos. I was still firmly resolved to pursue my policy of sparing her purity by operating only in the stealth of night, only upon a completely anaesthetized little nude. ibid.
Reader must understand that in possession and thraldom of a nymphet the enchanted traveller stands, as it were, beyond happiness. For there is no other bliss on earth comparable to that of fondling a nymphet. It is hors concours, that bliss, it belongs to another class, another plane of sensitivity. Despite out tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise – a paradise whose skies were the colour of hell-flames – but still a paradise. ibid.
What I feared most was not that she might ruin me but that she might accumulate sufficient cash to run away. I believe the poor fierce-eyed child figured out that with a mere fifty dollars in her purse she might somehow reach Broadway of Hollywood – or the foul kitchen of a diner (Help Wanted) in a dismal ex-prairie state with the wind blowing and the stars blinking, and the cars and the bars, and the barmen, and everything soiled, torn, dead. ibid.
I perceived all at once with a sickening qualm how much she had changed since I first met her two years ago … Oh, she had changed! Her complexion was now that of any vulgar untidy highschool girl who applies shared cosmetic with grubby fingers to an unwashed face and does not mind what soiled texture, what postulate epidermis comes in contact with her skin … A course flush had now replaced that innocent fluorescence. ibid.
Lo looked up with a semi-smile of surprise and without a word I delivered a tremendous backhand cut that caught her smack on her hot hard little cheekbone.
And then the remorse, the poignant sweetness of sobbing atonement, grovelling love, the hopelessness of sensual reconciliation. ibid.
Whatever lithophanic eternities might be provided for me, nothing could make my Lolita forget the foul lust I had inflicted upon her. ibid.
I recall certain moments, let us call them icebergs in paradise, when after having had my fill of her – after fabulous, insane exertions that left me limp and azure-barred – I would gather her in my arms with, at last, a mute moan of human tenderness (her skin glistening in the neon light coming from the paved court through the slits in the blind, her soot-black lashes matted, her grave gray eyes more vacant than ever – for all the world a little patient still in the confusion of a drug after a major operation) – and the tenderness would deepen to shame and despair, and I would lull and rock my lone light Lolita in my marble arms, and moan in her warm hair, and caress her at random and mutely ask her blessing, and at the peak of this human agonized selfless tenderness (with my soul actually hanging around her naked body and ready to repent), all at once, ironically, horribly, lust would swell again – and ‘oh, no’, Lolita would say with a sigh to heaven, and the next moment the tenderness and the azure – all would be shattered. ibid.
It had become gradually clear to my conventional Lolita during out singular and bestial cohabitation that even the most miserable of family lives was better than the parody of incest, which, in the long run, was the best I could offer the waif. ibid.
If Nature, for a favourite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray. William Wordsworth, Matthew
Ours was a tiny neighbourhood swarming with kids: kids in the alleys, kids crowding the stoops, kids pouring out of the tenements and stampeding from Clifton Avenue down to Broad Street. All day long, during the summertime, through half the night you could hear these kids shouting to one another. ‘Guahl-yo! Guahl-yo!’ Everywhere you looked, bands of kids, battalions of kids – pitching pennies, playing cards, rolling dice, shooting pool, licking ices, playing ball, making bonfires, frightening girls. Only the nuns with rulers could control those kids. Philip Roth, I Married a Communist
The gap between rich and poor in the UK is now wider than at any time since the Second World War. We asked four children to show us what life is really like growing up in Britain today below the poverty line. Poor Kids, BBC 2011
‘I think I’m poor because we only get £420 a month.’ ibid. Sam
Poor children are 2.5 times more likely to suffer chronic illness. ibid.
The thing that affects Page’s life the most is the damp that permeates her flat and many others in these blocks. ibid.
‘My sister donated this shirt to me because I needed a shirt for school.’ ibid.
Over one million homes in the UK are classified as ‘unfit to live in’. ibid.
It is a story of unimaginable evil. Josef Frizl held his daughter Elizabeth prisoner in the cellar of his home for twenty-four years. He forced her to have seven children with him and even murdered one of the babies. Fritzl: What Happened Next, Channel 5 2017
There was no natural light and barely any room to move freely. ibid.
For the children that remained, the only life they knew was that of an underground prison. ibid.
She [wife] was completely taken in by his lies. ibid.
‘He was not mentally insane.’ ibid. Dr Heidi Kastner, forensic psychiatrist
Fritzl didn’t want to show his face. ibid.
Fritzl showed little sign of remorse. ibid.
‘Fritzl raped a local woman. He broke into her house to do so and he served a year in prison for this crime.’ ibid. Dr Yardley, criminologist
When Fritzl’s abuse began she was only eleven. ibid.
‘It’s hard to explain to people there’s no grand plan.’ My Flesh and Blood, Susan Tom, 2003
‘These kids were mine with all their troubles, with all their foibles, with all, whatever, these kids were mine.’ ibid.
‘They really are a gift.’ ibid.
‘Living at home now are nine of the kids with differing degrees of disability.’ ibid.
‘Mine would say fat, lots of kids … let’s get the fat bit out of the way …’ ibid. online dating site
‘This is a hard family to live with.’ ibid. troublesome son
Child Labour is a global issue. Across the world there’s an estimated 218 million kids working. Stacey Dooley Investigates: Kids for Sale s1e1: Nepal, BBC 2009
Nepal: where tens of thousands of kids are forced to leave their families, often as young as eight or nine years old, to go and work in factories. ibid.
There’s five young children working here … He’s working fourteen hours and day and he’s sleeping on the floor. ibid.
Stacey’s going to Cambodia to investigate how thousands of young girls are being sold into sexual slavery. She discovers how young girls are often betrayed by those they trust most: their families. Stacey Dooley: Sex Trafficking in Cambodia, BBC 2010
It is thought that around a third of the estimated 100,000 sex workers in Cambodia are under the age of 18. ibid.
‘Ten dollars up to thirty.’ ibid.
There’s a place in the world where mothers are putting their own kids in front of web-cams for money. The children are forced to perform sex acts. Stacey Dooley, Mums Selling Their Kids for Sex, BBC 2017
Britain’s drug trade is going through a digital revolution. Up and down the country dealers are now using social apps to sell you gear. Nowhere is out of reach. Just a swipe away and costing less than a pint of bear it’s never been easier for kids to get their hands on drugs. Stacey Dooley, Kids Selling Drugs, BBC 2017
I was in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania spending time in the world of children who have been diagnosed with mental disorders and put on psychoactive medication. Faced with the challenging behaviour of their kids more and more parents in America view these medications as a godsend. Yet the drugs and some of the diagnoses are still controversial. Louis Theroux: America’s Medicated Kids, BBC 2010