Marcel Proust Quotes
And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) of which we have no inkling. And it depends on chance whether or not we come upon this object before we ourselves must die.
Marcel Proust
Quotes to Explore
I was the big, bossy older sister, full of enthusiasms, mad fantasies, desperate urges to be famous, and anxious to be a saint - a settled sort of saint, not one who might have to suffer or die for her faith.
Maeve Binchy
Kubrick's films have life - they just never die.
R. Lee Ermey
To retire is to begin to die.
Pablo Casals
I've had a lot of voices tell me what I should be making. Personally, I would much rather live and die by my own hand. If my stuff sucks, then at least I made it suck. I didn't allow some person, some old dude in a suit, to make it suck for me.
Zendaya
I've been doing extremely dangerous activities for a long time, but I've been lucky enough to have survived so far. However, sooner or later we all die... and, if that's the case, I want to die doing what I love to do the most. That's how I view death.
Yuichiro Miura
We like lists because we don't want to die.
Umberto Eco
That which is alive hath known death, and that which is dead can never die, for in the Circle of the Spirit life is naught and death is naught. Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten.
H. Rider Haggard
We wish we were doing it, of course, under much better circumstances, but this man was loved. For Chris.
Axl Rose
Guns N' Roses
'There is no God,' cry the masses more and more vociferously; and with the loss of God man loses his sense of values - is, as it were, massacred because he feels himself of no account.
Karl Jaspers
We practically wiped this nation clean of Marxists.
Augusto Pinochet
And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) of which we have no inkling. And it depends on chance whether or not we come upon this object before we ourselves must die.
Marcel Proust