Lolita

by Vladimir Nabokov

a zone of evil mirth and magic, a zone whose very precision and stability had a glass-like virtue that was almost artistic.

It had become gradually clear to my conventional Lolita during our 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.

since I had disregarded all laws of humanity, I might as well disregard the rules of traffic.