Quote

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

Marcel Proust

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Marcel Proust
Age: 51 †
Born: 1871
Born: July 10
Died: 1922
Died: November 18
Author
Essayist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Writer
Paris
France
Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust
Proust
Valentin-Louis-Georgs-Eugène-Marcel Proust
Valentin Louis Georges Eugéne Marcel Proust
Valentin-Louis-Georges-Eugéne-Marcel Proust
Valentin Louis Georges Eugene Marcel Proust
Valentin-Louis-Georges-Eugene-Marcel Proust
Bernard d'Algouvres
Valentin-Louis-Georges-Eugène-Marcel Proust
Time
Spoken
Becomes
Literature
Lying
True
Littles
Little
Falsehood
Everything
Passes

More quotes by Marcel Proust

Image
A language which we do not know is a fortress sealed.
Marcel Proust
Image
Our desires cut across one another, and in this confused existence it is rare for happiness to coincide with the desire that clamoured for it.
Marcel Proust
Image
For each illness that doctors cure with medicine, they provoke ten in healthy people by inoculating them with the virus that is a thousand times more powerful than any microbe: the idea that one is ill.
Marcel Proust
Image
We live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom: our body.
Marcel Proust
Image
Our passions shape our books, repose writes them in the intervals.
Marcel Proust
Image
We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world.
Marcel Proust
Image
It is the tragedy of other people that they are to us merely showcases for the very perishable collections of our own mind.
Marcel Proust
Image
The courage of one's opinions is always a form of calculating cowardice in the eyes of the other side.
Marcel Proust
Image
If only for the sake of elegance, I try to remain morally pure.
Marcel Proust
Image
The tiny, initial clue ... by allowing us to imagine what we do not know, stimulates a desire for knowledge.
Marcel Proust
Image
Most of our faculties lie dormant because they can rely upon Habit, which knows what there is to be done and has no need of their services.
Marcel Proust
Image
We are all of us obliged, if we are to make reality endurable, to nurse a few little follies in ourselves.
Marcel Proust
Image
La possession de ce qu'on aime est une joie plus grande encore que l'amour. Possessing what one loves is an even greater joy than love itself.
Marcel Proust
Image
Conversation, which is friendship's mode of expression, is a superficial digression which gives us nothing worth acquiring. We may talk for a lifetime without doing more than indefinitely repeat the vacuity of a minute.
Marcel Proust
Image
Everything we think of as great has come to us from neurotics. It is they and they alone who found religions and create great works of art. The world will never realize how much it owes to them and what they have suffered in order to bestow their gifts on it.
Marcel Proust
Image
For although we know that the years pass, that youth gives way to old age, that fortunes and thrones crumble (even the most solid among them) and that fame is transitory, the manner in which—by means of a sort of snapshot—we take cognisance of this moving universe whirled along by Time, has the contrary effect of immobilising it.
Marcel Proust
Image
Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them.
Marcel Proust
Image
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.
Marcel Proust
Image
I should have been happy: I wasn’t.
Marcel Proust
Image
I cannot express the uneasiness caused in me by this intrusion of mystery and beauty into a room I had at last filled with myself to the point of paying no more attention to the room than to that self. The anesthetizing influence of habit having ceased, I would begin to have thoughts, and feelings, and they are such sad things.
Marcel Proust