by Charlotte Reads Classics

The reality that I had known no longer existed. … The places we have known do not belong only to the world of space on which we map them for our own convenience. They were only a thin slice, held between the contiguous impressions that composed our life at that time; the memory of an image is but regret for a particular moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years.
In Search of Lost Time Volume I: Swann’s Way, Marcel Proust

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