Marcel Proust

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

Love is space and time measured by the heart.

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

In theory, one is aware that the earth revolves, but in practice one does not perceive it, the ground upon which one treads seems not to move and one can live undisturbed. So it is with Time in one's life.

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.

Let us leave pretty women to men devoid of imagination.

Like many intellectuals, he was incapable of saying a simple thing in a simple way.

We are able to find everything in our memory, which is like a dispensary or chemical laboratory in which chance steers our hand sometimes to a soothing drug, and sometimes to a dangerous poison.

The charms of the passing woman are generally in direct proportion to the swiftness of her passing.

We do not succeed in changing things according to our desire but gradually our desire changes.

Time passes and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.

There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.

Our intonations contain our philosophy of life what each of us is constantly telling himself about things.

We don't receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.

A woman one loves rarely suffices for all our needs so we deceive her with another whom we do not love.

We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full.

It is in moments of illness that we are compelled to recognize that we live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom whole worlds apart who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body.

A powerful idea communicates some of its strength to him who challenges it.

People can have many different kinds of pleasure. The real one is that for which they will forsake the others.

Lies are essential to humanity. They are perhaps as important as the pursuit of pleasure and moreover are dictated by that pursuit.