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In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
uncertain but not unpleasing, half-memory and half-oblivion, of idle hours spent together after our weekly dinners, round the card-table or in the garden, during our companionable country life.
Marcel Proust • In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
and she would go out again sad and discouraged, but still smiling, for she was so humble and so sweet that her gentleness towards others, and her continual subordination of herself and of her own troubles, appeared on her face blended in a smile which, unlike those seen on the majority of human faces, had no trace in it of irony, save for herself,
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We pack the physical outline of the creature we see with all the ideas we have already formed about him, and in the complete picture of him which we compose in our minds those ideas have certainly the principal place. In the end they come to fill out so completely the curve of his cheeks, to follow so exactly the line of his nose, they blend so
... See moreMarcel Proust • In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
a mother might run her hand through her boy’s hair, after the barber had smoothed it down, to make it stick out properly round his head.
Marcel Proust • In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
much did I love that good night that I reached the stage of hoping that it would come as late as possible, so as to prolong the time of respite during which Mamma would not yet have appeared.
Marcel Proust • In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
in my cowardice I became at once a man, and did what all we grown men do when face to face with suffering and injustice; I preferred not to see them;
Marcel Proust • In Search of Lost Time [volumes 1 to 7]
The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the interval, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks’ windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those
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And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect. And as for that object, it
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