Author of quotes: Marcel Proust. Page 1

People do not die for us immediately, as if they are bathed in a kind of aura of life which has no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It's like they went abroad.

Only through art can we leave ourselves, to learn how another sees the universe.

When we are in love with a woman, we only project onto it our state of mind; what, therefore, is important not of the dignity of women, and the depth of this state, and that feelings, which for us is an ordinary girl, help to float to the surface of our consciousness we are more expensive, more original, more far more important matter of our "I" than those in, which is a pleasure to converse with a man of outstanding or even happiness to admire his creations.

They say that the salty liquid which is our blood, there's nothing like lingering inside our body the remnant of the original sea.

As a thinking being may not understand that laughing at a man who is sincere to him, it rolled into the swamp, where it by any forces will not pull out?

The people in the majority until we are indifferent, when we give any of them the ability to disappoint and delight us, then that being appears to us emerging from another world, we poetiziruet it, it transforms our lives into a breathtaking space, where it is more or less close distance from us.

... we tell each other that we'll still be friends. But parting with friends is very rare, because if you find something that is good, it means there is no need to leave.

In life there really are a few easy success, and definitive failures.

The speech of the woman similar to soil, which is detrimental flow of water; behind her words all the time felt a piercing cold invisible veil; the veil does not act on the surface of the whole - it's insidious: it seeps in places.

In order for us to love a woman, sometimes it is enough for her contemptuous eyes on us, enough to think that she will never belong to us.

The General public knows the beauty, charm, learns the phenomena of nature through formulaic art, slowly, but still reaching to her heart - as opposed to the original artist who first of all rejects the templates.

The reader resent the slightest liberty of some of these writers, because they did nothing to please him and not gave him a vulgarity to which he is accustomed.

We wanted to capture the heart of a woman that were in love; now one the feeling that you own the heart of a woman, it may be sufficient that we fell in love with her.

I only reproach the Newspapers that every day they draw our attention to insignificant things, while we read only some three or four times in my life books that contain essential things.