During the eight years Pnin had taught at Waindell College he had changed his lodgings–for one reason or another, mainly sonic–about every semester. The accumulation of consecutive rooms in his memory now resembled those displays of grouped elbow chairs on show, and beds, and lamps, and inglenooks which, ignoring all space-time distinctions, commingle in the soft light of a furniture store beyond which it snows, and the dusk deepens, and nobody really loves anybody.

-Vladimir Nabokov, Pnin

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