If We Are To Make Reality Endurable,

As To The Pretty Girls Who Went Past, From The Day On Which I Had First Known That Their Cheeks Could Be Kissed, I Had Become Curious About Their Souls. And The Universe Had Appeared To Me More Interesting.

Illness Is The Doctor To Whom We Pay Most Heed; To Kindness, To Knowledge, We Make Promise Only; Pain We Obey.

Proust Was The Greatest Novelist Of The Twentieth Century, Just As Tolstoy Was In The Nineteenth.

Love...., Ever Unsatisfied, Lives Always In The Moment That Is About To Come.

Griefs, At The Moment When They Change Into Ideas, Lose Some Of Their Power To Injure Our Heart.