Marcel Proust was born on this day in 1871.
Now there is one thing I can tell you: you will enjoy
certain pleasures you would not fathom now. When you still had your mother you
often thought of the days when you would have her no longer. Now you will often
think of days past when you had her. When you are used to this horrible thing
that they will forever be cast into the past, then you will gently feel her
revive, returning to take her place, her entire place, beside you. At the
present time, this is not yet possible. Let yourself be inert, wait till the
incomprehensible power that has broken you restores you a little, I say a
little, for henceforth you will always keep something broken about you. Tell
yourself this, too, for it is a kind of pleasure to know that you will never
love less, that you will never be consoled, that you will constantly remember
more and more.
Marcel Proust
No comments:
Post a Comment