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Marcel Proust Quotes about Memories

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Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.

Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.

Memories, Past, Remembrance

The bonds between ourselves and another person exists only in our minds. Memory as it grows fainter loosens them, and notwithstanding the illusion by which we want to be duped and which, out of love, friendship, politeness, deference, duty, we dupe other people, we exist alone. Man is the creature who cannot escape from himself, who knows other people only in himself, and when he asserts the contrary, he is lying.

Memories, Lying, Men

Marcel Proust (2010). “In Search Of Lost Time, Vol 5: The Captive & The Fugitive”, p.515, Random House

Even though our lives wander, our memories remain in one place.

Memories, Wander, Our Memories

1927 A' la recherche du temps perdu,'LeTemps retrouve '.

The memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment.

Memories, Regret, Moments

Marcel Proust (1982). “Remembrance of Things Past: Swann's way. Within a budding grove”, Vintage

How paradoxical it is to search reality for the pictures that are stored in one's memory.

Memories, Reality, Paradoxical

The images selected by memory are as arbitrary, as narrow, as elusive as those which the imagination had formed and reality has destroyed. There is no reason why, existing outside ourselves, a real place should conform to the pictures in our memory rather than those in our dreams.

Dream, Memories, Real

Marcel Proust (2000). “In Search of Lost Time, Volume IV: Sodom and Gomorrah (A Modern Library E-Book)”, p.191, Modern Library

The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. They were only a thin slice among contiguous impressions which formed our life at that time; the memory of a certain image is but regret for a certain moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fleeting, alas, as the years.

Memories, Regret, Years

Marcel Proust (2003). “In Search of Lost Time: The Way by Swann's”, ePenguin

After a certain age our memories are so intertwined with one another that what we are thinking of, the book we are reading, scarcely matters any more. We have put something of ourselves everywhere, everything is fertile, everything is dangerous, and we can make discoveries no less precious than in Pascal's Pensées in an advertisement for soap.

Memories, Reading, Book

Marcel Proust, Charles Kenneth Scott-Moncrieff, Dennis Joseph Enright (1992). “The captive, The fugitive”

Memory nourishes the heart, and grief abates.

Sympathy, Memories, Grief

Marcel Proust (1966). “Letters of Marcel Proust”

The moments of the past do not remain still; they retain in our memory the motion which drew them towards the future, towards a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train.

Memories, Past, Moments

Marcel Proust (2015). “Remembrance of Things Past: The Sweet Cheat Gone”, p.64, Marcel Proust

We exist only by virtue of what we possess, we possess only what is really present to us, and many of our memories, our moods, our ideas sail away on a voyage of their own until they are lost to sight! Then we can no longer take them into account in the total which is our personality. But they know of secret paths by which to return to us.

Memories, Sight, Ideas

Marcel Proust (1982). “Remembrance of Things Past: The captive. The fugitive. Time regained”, Vintage

There is no man ... however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived a life, the memory of which is so unpleasant to him that he would gladly expunge it. And yet he ought not entirely to regret it, because he cannot be certain that he has indeed become a wise man -- so far as it is possible for any of us to be wise -- unless he has passed through all the fatuous or unwholesome incarnations by which that ultimate stage must be preceded.

Wise, Wisdom, Memories

Marcel Proust (2015). “In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower: In Search of Lost Time”, p.481, Yale University Press

That translucent alabaster of our memories.

Memories, Our Memories

Marcel Proust (2010). “In Search Of Lost Time, Vol 5: The Captive & The Fugitive”, p.322, Random House

Our memory is like a shop in the window of which is exposed now one, now another photograph of the same person. And as a rule the most recent exhibit remains for some time the only one to be seen.

Memories, Window, Photograph

Marcel Proust (2015). “Within A Budding Grove”, p.513, Booklassic

It is the wicked deception of love that it begins by making us dwell not upon a woman in the outside world but upon a doll inside our head, the only woman who is always available in fact, the only one we shall ever possess, whom the arbitrary nature of memory, almost as absolute as that of the imagination, may have made as different from the real woman as the real Balbec had been from the Balbec I imagined- a dummy creation that little by little, to our own detriment, we shall force the real woman to resemble.

Memories, Real, Imagination

Marcel Proust, Christopher Prendergast (2004). “The Guermantes Way”, Viking Press

We are able to find everything in our memory, which is like a dispensary or chemical laboratory in which chance steers our hand sometimes to a soothing drug and sometimes to a dangerous poison.

Memories, Hands, Drug

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