Marcel Proust quotes - page 6

The moments of the past do not remain still they retain in our memory the motion which drew them towards the future, towards a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train. (Marcel Proust)
The true paradises are paradises we have lost.
Marcel Proust
A cathedral, a wave of storm, a dancer's leap, never turn out to be as high as we had hoped.
Marcel Proust
There can be no piece of mind in love, since the advantage one has secured is never anything but a fresh starting-point for future desires.
Marcel Proust
Illness is the most heeded of doctors to goodness and wisdom we only make promises pain we obey.
Marcel Proust
The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.
Marcel Proust
We have nothing to fear and a great deal to learn from trees, that vigorous and pacific tribe which without stint produces strengthening essences for us, soothing balms, and in whose gracious company we spend so many cool, silent and intimate hours.
Marcel Proust
The ''sensitiveness'' claimed by neurotic is matched by their egotism they cannot abide the flaunting by others of the sufferings to which they pay an even increasing amount of attention in themselves.
Marcel Proust
People claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years.
Marcel Proust
The regularity of a habit is generally in proportion to its absurdity.
Marcel Proust
Perhaps she would not have thought that evil was a state so rare, so extraordinary, so disorienting, and to which it was so restful to emigrate, if she had been able to discern in herself, as in everyone else, that indifference to the sufferings one causes which, whatever other names one gives it, is the terrible and lasting form assumed by cruelty. (Marcel Proust)