"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
"And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) of which we have no inkling. And it depends on chance whether or not we come upon this object before we ourselves must die."
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Source: Marcel Proust (2010). “In Search Of Lost Time Vol 1: Swann's Way”, p.51, Random House
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