"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
"In the sort of screen dappled with different states of mind which my consciousness would simultaneously unfold while I read, and which ranged from the aspirations hidden deepest within me to the completely exterior vision of the horizon which I had, at the bottom of the garden, before my eyes, what was first in me, innermost, the constantly moving handle that controlled the rest, was my belief in the philosophical richness and beauty of the book I was reading, and my desire to appropriate them for myself, whatever that book might be."
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Source: Marcel Proust (2006). “Remembrance of Things Past”, p.871, Wordsworth Editions
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