I have friends wherever there are companies of trees, wounded but not vanquished, which huddle together with touching obstinancy to implore an inclem… - Marcel Proust

And wasn't my mind also like another crib in the depths of which I felt I remained ensconced, even in order to watch what was happening outside? When I saw an external object, my awareness that I was seeing it would remain between me and it, lining it with a thin spiritual border that prevented me from ever directly touching its substance; it would volatize in some way before I could make contact with it, just as an incandescent body brought near a wet object never touches its moisture because it is always preceded by a zone of evaporation.

An hour is not merely an hour; it is a vase full of scents and sounds and projects and climates.

A little insomnia is not without its value in making us appreciate sleep, in throwing a ray of light upon that darkness.