Marcel Proust

Swann's Way

    Maxim Turaevmembuat kutipan6 tahun yang lalu
    And then I returned to my hawthorns, and stood before them as one stands before those
    New Neverlandermembuat kutipanbulan lalu
    and of the insolent indifference of a clock that chattered on at the top of its voice as though I were not there;
    New Neverlandermembuat kutipanbulan lalu
    For many years have now elapsed since the Combray days, when, coming in from the longest and latest walks, I would still be in time to see the reflection of the sunset glowing in the panes of my bedroom window.
    New Neverlandermembuat kutipan2 bulan yang lalu
    I would ask myself what o'clock it could be; I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now farther off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, shewed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveller would be hurrying towards the nearest station: the path that he followed being fixed for ever in his memory by the general excitement due to being in a strange place, to doing unusual things, to the last words of conversation, to farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp which echoed still in his ears amid the silence of the night; and to the delightful prospect of being once again at home.
    shanmembuat kutipan8 bulan yang lalu
    my cheek was still warm with her kiss, my body bent beneath the weight of hers. If, as would sometimes happen, she had the appearance of some woman whom I had known in waking hours, I would abandon myself altogether to the sole quest of her, like people who set out on a journey to see with their own eyes some city that they have always longed to visit, and imagine that they can taste in reality what has charmed their fancy. And then, gradually, the memory of her would dissolve and vanish, until I had forgotten the maiden of my dream.
    Jan Nomembuat kutipantahun lalu
    Perhaps the immobility of the things that surround us is forced upon them by our conviction that they are themselves, and not anything else, and by the immobility of our conceptions of them.
    Rosy Antuñanomembuat kutipantahun lalu
    making the room like one of those great open hearths which one finds in the country, or one of the canopied mantelpieces in old castles under which one sits hoping that in the world outside it is raining or snowing, hoping almost for a catastrophic deluge to add the romance of shelter and security to the comfort of a snug retreat
    Rosy Antuñanomembuat kutipantahun lalu
    the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy
    Rosy Antuñanomembuat kutipantahun lalu
    Will it ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness, this memory, this old, dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has travelled so far to importune, to disturb, to raise up out of the very depths of my being?
    Rosy Antuñanomembuat kutipantahun lalu
    Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I
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