Authors:
  • So we don't believe that life is beautiful because we don't recall it but if we get a whiff of a long-forgotten smell we are suddenly intoxicated and similarly we think we no longer love the dead because we don't remember them but if by chance we come across an old glove we burst into tears.

    Marcel Proust, Philip Kolb (1992). “Marcel Proust, Selected Letters: 1910-1917”, HarperCollins Publishers Ltd