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Habit! that skillful but slow arranger, which starts out by letting our spirit suffer for weeks in a temporary state, but that thespirit is after all happy to discover, for without habit and reduced to its own resources, the spirit would be unable to make any lodgings seem habitable.

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
Spirit
Discover
Reduced
Seems
Resources
Unable
States
Habit
Temporary
Without
Seem
Weeks
Make
Week
Letting
Lodgings
Would
State
Starts
Arranger
Suffering
Slow
Habitable
Happy
Suffer
Skillful

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In a separation it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things.
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What a profound significance small things assume when the woman we love conceals them from us.
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We become moral when we are unhappy.
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We strive all the time to give our life its form, but we do so by copying willy-nilly, like a drawing, the features of the person that we are and not of the person we should like to be.
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Friendship is in the end no more than: . . . a lie which seeks to make us believe that we are not irremediably alone.
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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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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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Those whose suffering is due to love are, as we say of certain invalids, their own physicians.
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A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light, though, as if a shower of sand were being sprinkled from a window overhead then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain
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We pack the physical outline of the creature we see with all the ideas we have already formed about him, and in the complete picture of him we compose in our minds those ideas have certainly the principal place.
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Nobility is often no more than the inner aspect which our egotistical feelings assume when we have not yet named and classified them.
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Sometimes in the afternoon sky the moon would pass white as a cloud, furtive, lusterless, like an actress who does not have to perform yet and who, from the audience, in street clothes, watches the other actors for a moment, making herself inconspicuous, not wanting anyone to pay attention to her.
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The stellar universe is not so difficult to understand as the real actions of other people, especially of the people with whom we are in love.
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Under each station of the real, another glimmers.
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It comes so soon, the moment when there is nothing left to wait for.
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The true voyage of discovery is not a journey to a new place it is learning to see with new eyes.
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We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.
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The only true voyage would be not to travel through a hundred different lands, but to see the same land through a hundred different pairs of eyes.
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