A person does not, as I had imagined, stand motionless and clear before our eyes with his merits, his defects, his plans, his intentions with regard … - Marcel Proust

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A person does not, as I had imagined, stand motionless and clear before our eyes with his merits, his defects, his plans, his intentions with regard to ourselves (like a garden at which we gaze through a railing with all its borders spread out before us), but is a shadow which we can never penetrate, of which there can be no such thing as direct knowledge, with respect to which we form countless beliefs, based upon words and sometimes actions, neither of which can give us anything but inadequate and as it proves contradictory information — a shadow behind which we can alternately imagine with equal justification, that there burns the flame of hatred and of love.

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About Marcel Proust

Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust (10 July 1871 – 18 November 1922) was a French novelist, essayist and critic.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust 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
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In reading, friendship is restored immediately to its original purity. With books there is no forced sociability. If we pass the evening with those friends — books — it’s because we really want to. When we leave them, we do so with regret and, when we have left them, there are none of those thoughts that spoil friendship: “What did they think of us?” — “Did we make a mistake and say something tactless?” — “Did they like us?” — nor is there the anxiety of being forgotten because of displacement by someone else. All such agitating thoughts expire as we enter the pure and calm friendship of reading.

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The laborious process of causation which sooner or later will bring about every possible effect, including, consequently, those which one believed to be least possible, naturally slow at times, is rendered slower still by our desire (which in seeking to accelerate only obstructs it), by our very existence, and comes to fruition only when we have ceased to desire, and sometimes ceased to live.

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