Doubtless, objects present man with no more than a limited number of their immeasurable attributes, because of the poverty of our senses. Things are coloured because we have eyes; how many other epithets might they not deserve if we had hundreds of senses? But this different aspect that they could have had is made easier for us to understand by what in life is a minimal incident of which we know only a part, believing it to be the whole, and which someone else perceives as if through a window on the other side of the house giving a different view.Marcel Proust, The Fugitive, translated by Peter Collier (London: Penguin, 2003), 646
Only (?) 342 pages of In Search of Lost Time to go.
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