More from Marcel Proust
Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.
In a separation it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things.
Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.
Remembrance of Things Past (1913-1927), Vol. VII: The Past Recaptured (1927), Ch. III: “An Afternoon Party at the House of the Princesse de Guermantes”
