r o p e

16 January 2011 § Leave a comment

… and when I awoke in the middle of the night, not knowing where I was, I could not even be sure at first who I was; I had only the most rudimentar y sense of existence, such as may lurk and flicker in the depths of an animal’s consci ousness; I was more destit ute than the cave-dwelle r; but th en the me mory- not yet of the place in which I was, but of var ious other places where I had lived and might n ow very possibly be- would come like a rope let d own from heaven to draw m e up out of the abyss of not-b eing, from which I could never have e scaped by m yself…

— Marcel Proust, from the Overture to Swann’s Way

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