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"Let an illness, a duel, a runaway horse make us see death face to face, and how richly we should have enjoyed the life of pleasure, the travels in unknown lands, which are about to be snatched from us! And no sooner is the danger past than we resume once more the same dull life in which none of those delights existed for us."
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"And then his noise falls completely silent-And he stops struggling-And looking right into my eyes-He dies.My Todd dies."

"The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die."

"Birth and death we all move between these two unknowns."

"Let us think of people as starting life with an experience they forget and ending it with one which they anticipate but cannot understand."
Explore more quotes by Marcel Proust

"There is no man...however wise, who has not at some period in his youth said things, or lived a life, the memory of which is so unpleasant to him that he would gladly expunge it. And yet he ought not entirely to regret it, because he cannot be certain that he has indeed become a wise man..."

"The time at our disposal each day is elastic; the passions we feel dilate it, those that inspire us shrink it, and habit fills it."

"Three-quarters of the sicknesses of intelligent people come from their intelligence. They need at least a doctor who can understand this sickness."

"I spent many a charming evening talking and playing with Albertine, but none so sweet as when I was watching her sleep."

"That profit which good things bestowed on us by teaching to seek pleasure elsewhere than in the barren satisfaction of worldly wealth."

"Presently, one after another, like shyly hopping sparrows, her friends arrived, black against the snow."

"We do not include the pleasures we enjoy in sleep in the inventory of the pleasures we have experienced in the course of our existence."

"A 'real' person, profoundly as we may sympathise with him, is in a great measure perceptible only through our senses, that is to say, he remains opaque, offers a dead weight which our sensibilities have not the strength to lift."
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