Reading Proust is of course a pilgrimage as such – and surely his soul lingers rather sous une haie d’aubépines (under a hawthorn hedge) than in a cemetery.
But still, his “little weatherman” might have loved the fleetingness of that shadow, appearing and disappearing with the itinerant sun & clouds.
a f(l)itting tribute. :-)
ReplyDeleteI have heard and read quite a bit about Proust, am yet to sample the feast myself. someday.
:-)
ReplyDeleteOh, you would feast on Proust,you definitely would, dear Phoenix....
The “Recherche” is so meditative a work, and yet at the same time so full of the frenzied quest for happiness (or rather the desperate quest to quell unhappiness).
seems apt for our neurotic selfobsessed times... :-)
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