“[N]othing is more painful than this contrast between
the mutability of people and the fixity of memory, when it is borne in upon us
that what has preserved so much freshness in our memory can no longer possess
any trace of that quality in life, that we cannot now, outside ourselves,
approach and behold again what inside our mind seems so beautiful, what excites
in us a desire (a desire apparently so individual) to see it again, except by
seeking it in a person of the same age, by seeking it, that is to say, in a
different person.” —French novelist Marcel Proust
(1871-1922), Time Regained, Vol. 6 of In
Search of Lost Time (1927)
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