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Aristocracy is a relative thing. And there are plenty of out-of-the-way places where the son of an upholsterer is the arbiter of fashion and reigns over a court like any young Prince of Wales.

Marcel Proust

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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
Prince
Young
Thing
Reign
Way
Relative
Like
Plenty
Arbiter
Son
Reigns
Court
Wales
Places
Aristocracy
Fashion

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And so when studying faces, we do indeed measure them, but as painters, not as surveyors.
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Illness is the most heeded of doctors: to goodness and wisdom we only make promises pain we obey.
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It is the tragedy of other people that they are to us merely showcases for the very perishable collections of our own mind.
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People wish to learn to swim and at the same time to keep one foot on the ground.
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Reading is that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.
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Error, by force of contrast, enhances the triumph of Truth.
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Most of the supposed expressions of our feelings merely relieve us of them by drawing them out of us in an indistinct form that does not teach us to know them.
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That translucent alabaster of our memories.
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Nine tenths of the ills from which intelligent people suffer spring from their intellect.
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There are people whose faces assume an unaccustomed beauty and majesty the moment they cease to look out of their eyes.
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We do not succeed in changing things according to our desire, but gradually our desire changes.
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...that melancholy which we feel when we cease to obey orders which, from one day to another, keep the future hidden, and realise that we have at last begun to live in real earnest, as a grown-up person, the life, the only life that any of us has at his disposal.
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A man may have spent his life among the great ones of the earth, who to him have been merely boring relatives or tedious acquaintances because a familiarity engendered in the cradle had stripped them of all glamour in his eyes.
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Masterpieces are no more than the shipwrecked flotsam of great minds.
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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.
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