Quotes About Connection

It is only with the passions of others that we are ever really familiar, and that we come to find out about our own can be no more than what other people have shewn us.

Ogni lettore, quando legge, legge se stesso.

My darling, dear Marcel, I return less quickly than this cyclist, whose machine I would like to borrow in order to be with you sooner. How could you imagine that I might be angry or that I could enjoy anything better than to be with you? It will be nice to go out, just the two of us together; it would be nicer still if we never went out except together. The ideas you get into your head! What a Marcel! What a Marcel! Always and ever your Albertine.

Other people as a rule mean so little to us that, when we have invested one of them with the power to cause us so much suffering or happiness, that person seems at once to belong to a different universe, is surrounded with poetry, makes of one's life a sort of stirring arena in which he or she will be more or less close to one.

Kadar ?lovek ljubi, je ljubezen prevelika, da bi jo mogel obdržati vso v sebi samem; tedaj ljubezen izžareva proti ljubljenemu bitju, naleti v njem na ploskev, ki jo prestreže in odbije proti izhodiš?u, in ta odboj lastnih ?ustev imamo za ljubezen onega drugega bitja ter smo od nje vsi o?arani, saj ne spoznamo, da izvira iz nas.

The words that passed between the girls of the little band and myself were not of any interest; they were, moreover, but few, broken by long spells of silence on my part. All of which did not prevent me from finding, in listening to them when the spoke to me, as much pleasure as in gazing at them, in discovering in the voice of each one of them a brightly colored picture. It was with ecstasy that I caught their pipings.

The words that passed between the girls of the little band and myself were not of any interest; they were, moreover, but few, broken by long spells of silence on my part. All of which did not prevent me from finding, in listening to them when they spoke to me, as much pleasure as in gazing at them, in discovering in the voice of each one of them a brightly colored picture. It was with ecstasy that I caught their pipings.

Our parallel lives resemble paths bordered at intervals by flower-vases placed symmetrically but not facing each other.

Bir insan öldükten sonra, e?er sanatç?ysa ve eserine kendinden bir ?eyler katm??sa, o insan?n bir parças?n?n ya?amaya devam edebilece?i söylenir bazen. Belki ayn? ?ekilde, bir insandan al?n?p ba?ka bir insan?n kalbine a??lanan sürgün de, al?nd??? insan yok olduktan sonra bile ya?amaya devam eder.

the only touchstone of merit seeming to me to be the way someone could be useful in connection with the one thing that seemed important—my love. Then, perhaps out of duplicity, or in a genuine surge of affection inspired by gratitude, by self-interest, and by all the physical features of Mme de Guermantes that nature had replicated in her nephew, I went on to add:

Les êtres nous sont d'habitude si indifférents que, quand nous avons mis dans l'un d'eux de telles possibilités de souffrance et de joie pour nous, il nous semble appartenir à un autre univers, il s'entoure de poésie, il fait de notre vie comme une étendue émouvante où il sera plus ou moins rapproché de nous.

When we are suffering, the only words that touch us are the words of those who have known the person we loved and who can recall him to us.

it was one of those visitors who do not approach us till all the others have gone and we can be alone together; that is when we notice them, when we can say, "I'm all yours," and give them our full attention.

Mas, ai! — pois, para o beijo, tão mal colocados estão as nossas narinas e os nossos olhos como malfeitos os lábios —, eis que de súbito os meus olhos cessaram de ver, e o meu nariz, por sua vez , esmagando-se, não sentiu mais nenhum odor, e, sem conhecer mais , por isso, o gosto do rosa desejado, eu soube, por esses detestáveis sinais, que estava enfim beijando as faces de Albertine.

Even if we live in a hermetically sealed compartment, associations of ideas, memories continue to act upon us.

In such a case we feel more compassionate towards those unknown to us, whom we can only imagine, than towards those whose vulgar daily life is lived close to us, unless we feel completely one of them, one flesh with them; patriotism works this miracle, we stand by our country as we do by ourselves in a love quarrel.

Mamma was the first person who had given her the pleasure of feeling that her peasant existence, with its simple joys and sorrows, might offer some interest, might be a source of grief or pleasure to some one other than herself. My

To a person who loves, is not absence the most certain, the most effective, the most durable, the most indestructible, the most faithful of presences?

That is how I see her to this day: standing there, her eyes shining under her toque, silhouetted against the backdrop of the sea, and separated from me by the transparent sky-blue stretch of time elapsed since that moment, the first glimpse of her in my memory, a very slight image of a face first desired and pursued, then forgotten, then found again, a face which since then I have often projected into the past, so as to say to myself, of a girl with me in my bedroom, 'That was her!

I might go alone as far as the porch of Saint-André-des-Champs: never did I find there the girl whom I should inevitably have met, had I been with my grandfather, and so unable to engage her in conversation.

that half of the human race in whom the curiosity the other half feels about the people it does not know is replaced by an interest in the people it does.

And if she had appeared, would I have dared to speak to her? I felt that she would have regarded me as mad, for I no longer thought of those desires which came to me on my walks, but were never realized, as being shared by others, or as having any existence apart from myself.

And Labruyère tells us that that is everything. 'To be with the people one loves, to speak to them, not to speak to them, it is all the same.' He is right; that is the only form of happiness

My ——" or "My dearest ——" followed by my Christian name, which, if we give the narrator the same name as the author of this book, would be 'My Marcel,' or 'My dearest Marcel.' After this I would never allow my relatives, by calling me 'dearest,' to rob of their priceless uniqueness the delicious words that Albertine uttered to me