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Every day I place less value in intellect. Every day I see more clearly that if the writer is to repossess himself of some part of his old impressions, which is to say, to reach something personal… then he must put it aside. What intellect restores to us under the name of the past, is not that. In reality, as soon as each hour of one’s life has died, it embodies itself in some material object, as do the souls of the dead in certain folk-stories, and hides there. There it remains captive, captive forever, unless we should happen upon the object, recognize what lies within, call it by its name, and so set it free. Most likely we may never happen upon the object (or the sensation, since we apprehend every object as sensation) that it hides in; and thus there are hours of our life that will never be revived: for this object is so tiny, so lost in the world, and there is so little likelihood that we shall come across it.
–Marcel Proust, Contre Sainte-Beuve, projet de préface (ca. 1905), in the Pléiade ed., p. 211 (S.H. transl.)
More from Scott Horton:
Mark Denbeaux on the NCIS cover-up of three “suicides” at Guantánamo Bay Detention Camp
From the June 2014 issue
No Comment — March 28, 2014, 12:32 pm
On CIA secrecy, torture, and war-making powers
Abortions per 1,000 live births in New York City:
Researchers discovered an “Obama effect”: African Americans’ performance on a verbal test improved, to equal that of white Americans, immediately after Obama’s nomination and his election.
“All I saw,” said a 12-year-old neighbor of visits to the man’s house, “was just cats in little diapers.”
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“I hope that after reading the following pages the leaders of the Y. M. C. A. will start a campaign to induce good young men to do nothing. If so, I shall not have lived in vain.”