"The chain of past days runs through the memory, which only holds fast to the nearest end of it, and the metal of which this end is forged is often very different from the metal of the earlier links, which have already slipped away into the dark; in our journey through life, the only country the mid sees as real is the one in which we live during the present instant."
Volume two of Proust's massive, exhausting 7 volume novel "In Search of Lost Time." Honestly, I don't know if Proust knew what an editor was. It runs 4,000 pages. 4,000 pages! That is long AF. But I feel now that I've started it I have to finish it. There are some moments of beauty, but it is a long slog.
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