Only by art can we get outside ourselves, instead of seeing only one world, our own, we see it under multiple forms.
MARCEL PROUST
We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.
More Marcel Proust Quotes
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Only by art can we get outside ourselves, instead of seeing only one world, our own, we see it under multiple forms.
MARCEL PROUST -
It comes so soon, the moment when there is nothing left to wait for.
MARCEL PROUST -
Desire makes everything blossom.
MARCEL PROUST -
Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us.
MARCEL PROUST -
Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now.
MARCEL PROUST -
Just as those who practice the same profession recognize each other instinctively, so do those who practice the same vice.
MARCEL PROUST -
One must never miss an opportunity of quoting things by others which are always more interesting than those one thinks up oneself.
MARCEL PROUST -
It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying.
MARCEL PROUST -
An hour is not merely an hour, it is a vase full of scents and sounds and projects and climates.
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 -
A woman one loves rarely suffices for all our needs, so we deceive her with another whom we do not love.
MARCEL PROUST -
Always try to keep a patch of sky above your life.
MARCEL PROUST -
A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.
MARCEL PROUST -
As long as men are free to ask what they must, free to say what they think, free to think what they will, freedom can never be lost and science can never regress.
MARCEL PROUST -
The highest praise of God consists in the denial of him by the atheist who finds creation so perfect that it can dispense with a creator.
MARCEL PROUST -
Reality is never more than a first step towards an unknown on the road to which one can never progress very far.
MARCEL PROUST