The Fragments

"Those were the fragments of the tessellation, and there were others, even more trivial; but in coming together the harmless parts made a lethal entity, and the girl in the yellow slacks and black jacket, standing with her hands behind her back, slightly rocking her shoulders, leaning her back now closer now less closely against the tree trunk, and tossing her hair—a definite picture that he knew he had never seen in reality—remained within him more real than any actual memory."

- Ada, or Ardor — Vladimir Nabokov