I would lay my cheeks gently against the comfortable cheeks of my pillow, as plump and blooming as the cheeks of babyhood
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IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME (
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and he is so nice besides.”
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my mind on thoughts of the future which would carry me, as on a bridge, across the terrifying abyss that yawned at my feet.
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bade her interrupt
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tried to convince myself that they were of no importance, really, since I should have forgotten them next morning
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We can talk about her again when we are by ourselves,” she said, or rather whispered to Swann. “It is only a mother who can understand. I am sure that hers would agree with me
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t managed to extract from the restriction itself a further refinement of thought, as great poets do when the tyranny of rhyme forces them into the discovery of their finest lines.
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do tell me about your daughter; I am sure she shews a taste already for nice things, like her papa