The pleasure that all men experience in mulling over their recollections is often keenest in those whom the tyranny of a malady and the daily hope of its cure keep, on the one hand, from seeking in nature images resembling those recollections and yet, on the other hand, leave confident that they will soon be able to do so. This hope adds an element of expectancy to memories and saves them from being mere recollections of a dead past.
“Love is space and time made directly perceptible to the heart.”
- Marcel Proust
We say indeed that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say this, we imagine that hour as situated in a vague and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any relation to the day already begun or that death could come this very afternoon, which is anything but uncertain - this afternoon every hour of which is filled in advance.
(via spicygirlsushirolls, dvvg)
“While waiting for the one we desire, we suffer so much from her absence that we cannot endure another presence.”