That day

 

"That day, the signs that lessened my discouragement and restored my faith in writing seemed to multiply around me.

As If memory , thanks to the act of forgetting  offers no bridge from itself to the present. It allows us to breath new air,  new  because we’ve breathed it before.  Poets tried vainly to situate this air in paradise but paradise are those we have lost.

This meant, my own fear of death stopped as I recalled the taste of the madeleine, at that moment the person I had been became extra-temporal , that person existed outside of activity or immediate enjoyment each time the miracle of analogy made me escape from the present . I felt no pleasure with balbec or when I had lived with Albertine  I felt it after the fact, I had to interpret the sensations like signs , laws and ideas, trying to think, to pull what I had once felt out f the shadows, to convert it to it’s spiritual equivalent.

The only means of doing so was to create, a work of art."

Marcel Proust