The theatre of the world is stocked with fewer settings than actors, and with fewer actors than situations.
Marcel ProustThrough art alone are we able to emerge from ourselves, to know what another person sees of a universe which is not the same as our own and of which, without art, the landscapes would remain as unknown to us as those that may exist on the moon. Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world only, our own, we see that world multiply itself and we have at our disposal as many worlds as there are original artists, worlds more different one from the other than those which revolve in infinite space, worlds which, centuries after the extinction of the fire from which their light first emanated, whether it is called Rembrandt or Vermeer, send us still each one its special radiance.
Marcel ProustStichwörter: art connections
Una certa somiglianza esiste, pur evolvendosi, fra le donne che via via amiamo, e dipende dalla fissità del nostro temperamento il quale, assumendosi l'incarico di sceglierle, elimina tutte quelle che non siano per noi, ad un tempo, opposte e complementari, vale a dire atte a soddisfare i nostri sensi e a far soffrire il nostro cuore.
Marcel ProustA man who is in the habit of smiling in the glass at his handsome face and stalwart figure, if you shew him their radiograph, will have, face to face with that rosary of bones, labelled as being the image of himself, the same suspicion of error as the visitor to an art gallery who, on coming to the portrait of a girl, reads in his catalogue: “Dromedary resting.
Marcel ProustStichwörter: surreal
We may, indeed, say that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say so we represent that hour to ourselves as situated in a vague and remote expanse of time, it never occurs to us that it can have any connexion with the day that has already dawned, or may signify that death — or its first assault and partial possession of us, after which it will never leave hold of us again — may occur this very afternoon, so far from uncertain, this afternoon every hour of which has already been allotted to some occupation. You make a point of taking your drive every day so that in a month’s time you will have had the full benefit of the fresh air; you have hesitated over which cloak you will take, which cabman to call, you are in the cab, the whole day lies before you, short because you have to be at home early, as a friend is coming to see you; you hope that it will be as fine again to-morrow; and you have no suspicion that death, which has been making its way towards you along another plane, shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, has chosen precisely this day of all days to make its appearance, in a few minutes’ time, more or less, at the moment when the carriage has reached the Champs-Elysées.
Marcel ProustStichwörter: death
To know a thing does not always enable us to prevent it, but at least the things we know we do hold, if not in our hands, at any rate in our minds, where we can dispose of them as we choose, and this gives us the illusion of a sort of power over them.
Marcel ProustAli čak ni onda kad se radi o najbeznačajnijim stvarima u životu, mi nismo čvrsto sastavljena cjelina koja je istovjetna za svakoga, koju svatko, ako samo hoće, može upoznati, kao kakav tekst ugovora ili testament; naša je društvena ličnost djelo mišljenja drugih ljudi. Čak i tako jednostavan čin kao što je "vidjeti neku poznatu osobu", djelomice je intelektualan čin. Mi tjelesnu pojavu bića koje vidimo, ispunjamo svim onim što o njoj znamo, i u cjelokupnom liku koji sebi predočujemo to znanje sigurno ima najveći udio. Ono dovršava izgled lica zaobljujući ga tako savršeno, tako vjerno i točno ocrtava liniju nosa, tako se upliće u zvučnost glasa, kao da je ona tek providna vanjština, da svaki puta kad vidimo to lice i čujemo taj glas, nanovo u njima nalazimo i nanovo slušamo ono isto što znamo.
Marcel ProustLas lluvias de noviembre habrán corrompido las flores de mi tumba, las habrá quemado junio y mi alma seguirá llorando siempre de impaciencia.
Marcel ProustPasaba largas horas encantadoras, a solas consigo mismo, el único invitado que olvidara invitar a comer durante su vida.
Marcel ProustSin embargo, he pintado con ternura los brazos de vuestras arañas, que han acariciado con una melancolía amorosa tantas cosas y tantos seres y ahora se han apagado para siempre.
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