Author of quotes: Marcel Proust. Page 2

We see only other people's inclinations; if we are able to understand their own, only those of them which point out to us from the outside.

Familiar place is just a space where we dispose of them as convenient for us. It's just a thin layer of interconnected experiences that make up our past; a memory of a certain image is only regret for a certain moment. Houses, roads, avenues are as - alas! - short-lived, as year.

The outer appearance of a person is a product of our thoughts about it. Even such a simple act as "see a friend", is the act of the intellectual. We Supplement it form the views which we have already developed and shared in essay, what we do, view these play undoubtedly an important role.

He is not confined in the building of their public relations, he made camping tent, such as those which take travelers to be able to smash wherever he was in love with a woman.

For making the right judgment about any person is often enough to turn inside reputation created by him in the light.

They say that silence is strength; if it can apply those we love, it is a terrible force. Her growing alarm is pending. Nothing is drawn to the man like that between us, there's at least surmountable obstacle than silence? Also saying that silence is torture and that it is able to bring to the madness of those who are condemned to silence in prison. But what a torture more cruel than to keep quiet himself, to suffer the silence of a loved one!

For the most part the pain is kind of the body's need to realize a new condition that is bothering him, allow the sensitivity in accordance with this condition.

An intelligent man is not afraid to seem a fool other wise man - and so a secular person is afraid that his secularism does not get recognition from Yahoo, not from nobles. Since then, as the world, three-quarters of the mental forces, three-quarters of lies, for which people lined the vanity and on which they just lost, they were dissipated before the people below them.

Secular people are so used to them looking for Dating that whoever avoids them, seems to them a novelty and seizes their attention.

Life to such an extent disappoints us that eventually we start to believe that literature has no any relation to it, and with surprise observed, how precious the thought, conveyed to us by books, show off, not afraid to disrepair, come into disrepair, are set at ease, as if it should be in our daily lives.

Any person that causes us to suffer can be classified us to the deity, he fragmented the reflection and the last link; the deity (Idea), the contemplation of which fills us with joy instead of sorrow we felt once. The art of living is to perceive people that causes us to suffer, only as steps, allowing to reach their divine image, and joyously to people our life with divinities.

The work of the artist - to try to see beyond matter, beyond experience, beyond words is something else - work, completely opposite to that which is made alive in us every moment when we, like betraying themselves, are at the mercy of self-love, of passion, of reason and habits that clutter, and eventually hide most of our true feelings under a pile of all kinds of terminology, practical goals that we falsely call life. In essence, it is a complex art - the only art alive.

How many times throughout my life reality had disappointed me because at the moment when I perceived it, the imagination being my only sense of beauty, could not relate to her in virtue of an immutable law, which States that it is impossible to imagine something that does not exist.

In reality, every reader reads first and foremost himself. And works of the writer - nothing more than an optical device, handed them to the reader, allowing the latter to distinguish in himself what without this book he probably couldn't see.