In reading, friendship is restored immediately to its original purity. With books there is no forced sociability. If we pass the evening with those f… - Marcel Proust

" "

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.

English
Collect this quote

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

Unlimited Quote Collections

Organize your favorite quotes without limits. Create themed collections for every occasion with Premium.

Related quotes. More quotes will automatically load as you scroll down, or you can use the load more buttons.

Additional quotes by Marcel Proust

Truth and life are very difficult to fathom, and I retained of them, without really having got to know them, an impression in which sadness was perhaps actually eclipsed by exhaustion.

The fault I find with our journalism is that it forces us to take an interest in some fresh triviality or other every day, whereas only three or four books in a lifetime give us anything that is of real importance. Suppose that, every morning, when we tore the wrapper off our paper with fevered hands, a transmutation were to take place, and we were to find inside it — oh! I don't know; shall we say Pascal's Pensées?

Loading...