Marcel Proust

Marcel Proust

Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust (10 July 1871 – 18 November 1922), known as Marcel Proust, was a French novelist, critic, and essayist best known for his monumental novel À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time; earlier rendered as Remembrance of Things Past), published in seven parts between 1913 and 1927. He is considered by critics and writers to be one of the most influential authors of the 20th century.

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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.

A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.

Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what without this book he would perhaps never have seen in himself.

The world was not created once and for all time for each of us individually. There are added to it in the course of our life things of which we have never had any suspicion.

In a separation it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things.

There is no man however wise who has not at some period of his youth said things or lived in a way the consciousness of which is so unpleasant to him in later life that he would gladly if he could expunge it from his memory.

The paradoxes of today are the prejudices of tomorrow since the most benighted and the most deplorable prejudices have had their moment of novelty when fashion lent them its fragile grace.

Time which changes people does not alter the image we have retained of them.

We become moral when we are unhappy.

No exile at the South Pole or on the summit of Mont Blanc separates us more effectively from others than the practice of a hidden vice.

What a profound significance small things assume when the woman we love conceals them from us.

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

The bonds that unite another person to our self exist only in our mind.

Happiness is beneficial for the body but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.

Love is a reciprocal torture.

It is always during a passing state of mind that we make lasting resolutions.

Words do not change their meanings so drastically in the course of centuries as in our minds names do in the course of a year or two.

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.

Everything great in the world comes from neurotics. They alone have founded our religions and composed our masterpieces.

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.

All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.

It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint it is because we ourselves are dying.

If only for the sake of elegance I try to remain morally pure.

Those whose suffering is due to love are as we say of certain invalids their own physicians.

The only paradise is paradise lost.

People wish to learn to swim and at the same time to keep one foot on the ground.

Habit is a second nature which prevents us from knowing the first of which it has neither the cruelties nor the enchantments.

We must never be afraid to go too far for truth lies beyond.

Three-quarters of the sicknesses of intelligent people come from their intelligence. They need at least a doctor who can understand this sickness.

Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed, to kindness to knowledge we make promise only, pain we obey.

Like everybody who is not in love he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages.

Only through art can we emerge from ourselves and know what another person sees.

Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.

Your soul is a dark forest. But the trees are of a particular species they are genealogical trees.

A fashionable milieu is one in which everybody's opinion is made up of the opinion of all the others. Has everybody a different opinion? Then it is a literary milieu.