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Quote by Marcel Proust

“Quando Odette deixasse de ser para ele uma criatura sempre ausente, cobiçada, imaginária, quando o sentimento que ele tinha por ela não fosse mais aquela mesma perturbação misteriosa que lhe causava a frase da sonata e sim afeto, reconhecimento, quando se estabelecessem entre ambos relações normais que poriam fim à loucura e à tristeza dele, então sem dúvida os atos da vida de Odette lhe pareceriam si mesmos pouco interessantes.”

Quote by Marcel Proust

Work

Un amour de Swann

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Author

Marcel Proust
Marcel Proust

Marcel Proust was a French novelist renowned for his magnum opus, 'In Search of Lost Time'. This novel is considered a classic of 20th-century literature, known for its intricate psychological portrayals and profound exploration of memory. more

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“He recognised that all the period of Odette's life which had elapsed before she first met him, a period of which he had never sought to form any picture in his mind, was not the featureless abstraction which he could vaguely see, but had consisted of so many definite, dated years, each crowded with concrete incidents. But were he to learn more of them, he feared lest her past, now colourless, fluid and supportable, might assume a tangible, an obscene form, with individual and diabolical features. And he continued to refrain from seeking a conception of it, not any longer now from laziness of mind, but from fear of suffering.”

“When she leaned forward to mess with the AC vents, her hair brushed against my leg and it was really soft. It made remember all over again. It made it hard to stay pissed and keep her at arm's length the way I'd planned. It was pretty near damn impossible. When I was near her, I just wanted to grab her and hold her and kiss the shit out of her. Maybe then she'd forget about my asshole of a brother.”

“Max. God, but she was stubborn. And tough. And closed in. Closed off. Except when she was holding Angel, or ruffling the Gasman’s hair, or pushing something closer to Iggy’s hand so he could find it easily without knowing anyone had helped him. Or when she was trying to untangle Nudge’s mane of hair. Or-sometimes-when she was looking at Fang. He shifted on the hard ground, a half-dozen flashes of memory cycling through his brain. Max looking at him and laughing. Max leaping off a cliff, snapping out her wings, flying off, so incredibly powerful and graceful that it took his breath away. Max punching someone’s lights out, her face like stone. Max kissing that weiner Sam on Anne’s front porch. Gritting his teeth, Fang rolled onto his side. Max kissing him on the beach, after Ari had kicked Fang’s butt. Just now, her mouth soft under his. He wished she were here, if not next to him, then somewhere in the cave, so he could hear her breathing. It was going to be hard to sleep without that tonight.”

“Before Charlotte could utter a syllable, Tristan picked up her gloved hand and kissed her lightly on the knuckles. “Good day, Charlotte,” he said. “Good day,” she answered. She turned to bid farewell to Lady Rosalind, but she seemed to have disappeared. Numbly, she descended the front steps toward a waiting Rothbury, who only had eyes for the Devines’ front door, looking quite like he wanted to murder someone. “Perfection, dear brother,” Rosalind proclaimed, while peeking out the little window next to the door. “Utter perfection.” Slipping a finger inside his cravat to loosen it a bit, Tristan craned his neck from side to side, easing the building tension. “If he kills me, I’ll see to it that you get hanged for murder as well.”