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235 pages, Paperback
First published April 28, 1998
Quand ce qui est le plus caché dans la Sonate de Vinteuil se découvrit à moi, déjà entraîné par l'habitude hors des prises de ma sensibilité, ce que j'avais distingué, préféré tout d'abord, commençait à m'échapper, à me fuir. Pour n'avoir pu aimer qu'en des temps successifs tout ce que m'apportait cette sonate, je ne la possédai jamais tout entière: elle ressemblait à la vie. Mais, moins décevants que la vie, ces grands chefs-d'oeuvre ne commencent pas par nous donner ce qu'ils ont de meilleur.
Scott Moncrieff's translation:
When the least obvious beauties of Vinteuil's sonata were revealed to me, already, borne by the force of habit beyond the reach of my sensibility, those that I had first distinguished and preferred in it were beginning to escape, to avoid me. Since I was able only in successive moments to enjoy all the pleasures that this sonata gave me, I never possessed it in its entirety: it was like life itself. But, less disappointing than life is, great works of art do not begin by giving us all their best.


little detail (Ruskin's "Little Man"), the kind of most of us distracted tourists (baedekering our way around the greatest hits of the art world, lusting after what Sartre would call Perfect Moments) would completely ignore, Proust realised not only that he needed to lavish the same kind of attention on Ruskin, but also that he had to find his own "little man" in his own writing. (here's an article on the aforementioned, BTW: https://whyruskin.wordpress.com/2017/...)