Posts tagged Proust.

I cannot sleep beside someone who moves around, snores, breathes heavily, or steals the covers. I can sleep with my arms around someone who doesn’t move. I have attempted suicide once, I’ve been tempted four times to attempt it. The distant sound of a lawn mower in summer brings back happy childhood memories. I am bad at throwing. I have read less of the Bible than of Marcel Proust. … When I make lists of names, I dread the ones I forget. From certain angles, tanned and wearing a black shirt, I can find myself handsome. I find myself ugly more often than handsome. I like my voice after a night out or when I have a cold. I am unacquainted with hunger.

Édouard Levé, from “When I Look at a Strawberry, I Think of a Tongue,” trans. Lorin Stein (via proustitute)

So, if I were given long enough to accomplish my work, I should not fail, even if the effect were to make them resemble monsters, to describe men as occupying so considerable a place, compared with the restricted place which is reserved for them in space, a place on the contrary prolonged past measure, for simultaneously, like giants plunged into the years, they touch the distant epochs through which they have lived, between which so many days have come to range themselves — in Time.

Marcel Proust, last sentence of A la recherche du temps perdu, trans. Moncrieff and Kilmartin (via proustitute)

Happiness is salutary for the body, but it is sorrow that develops the intellect.

Marcel Proust (via depressionparty)

(via depressionparty)