When from a long distant past nothing subsists after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.
MARCEL PROUSTDeath is in truth an illness from which we recover
More Marcel Proust Quotes
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People don’t know when they are happy. They’re never so unhappy as they think they are.
MARCEL PROUST -
The creation of the world did not occur at the beginning of time, it occurs every day.
MARCEL PROUST -
We live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom: our body.
MARCEL PROUST -
It has been said that beauty is a promise of happiness. Conversely, the possibility of pleasure can be a beginning of beauty.
MARCEL PROUST -
There comes in all our lives a time, when the ears can listen to no music save what the moonlight breathes through the flute of silence.
MARCEL PROUST -
Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.
MARCEL PROUST -
If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.
MARCEL PROUST -
Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them.
MARCEL PROUST -
A photograph acquires something of the dignity which it ordinarily lacks when it ceases to be a reproduction of reality and shows us things that no longer exist.
MARCEL PROUST -
The time at our disposal each day is elastic; the passions we feel dilate it, those that inspire us shrink it, and habit fills it.
MARCEL PROUST -
To write that essential book, a great writer does not need to invent it but merely to translate it, since it already exists in each one of us. The duty and task of a writer are those of translator.
MARCEL PROUST -
Reading is that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.
MARCEL PROUST -
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
MARCEL PROUST -
Like many intellectuals, he was incapable of saying a simple thing in a simple way.
MARCEL PROUST -
The fixity of a habit is generally in direct proportion to its absurdity.
MARCEL PROUST