by Charlotte Reads Classics

At this time of life one has already been wounded more than once by the darts of love; it no longer evolves by itself, obeying its own incomprehensible and fatal laws, before our passive and astonished hearts. We come to its aid, we falsify it by memory and by suggestion. Recognising one if its symptoms, we remember and re-create the rest. Since we know its song, which is engraved on our hearts in its entirety, there is no need for a woman to repeat the opening strains – filled with the admiration which beauty inspires – for us to remember what follows. And if she begins in the middle – where hearts are joined and where it sings of our existing, henceforward, for one another only – we are well enough attuned to that music to be able to take it up and follow our partner without hesitation at the appropriate passage.
In Search of Lost Time Volume I Swann’s Way, Marcel Proust

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