We wrongly think Old People were always old; but those rheumy eyes and fragile bones once celebrated all of youth’s energetically sweaty cravings and passions.
— Marcel Proust (@ProustTweet) April 20, 2020
The old age of my acquaintances (in itself a matter of indifference to me) now freezes my blood - by announcing to me the approach of my own old age.
— Marcel Proust (@ProustTweet) April 21, 2020
Thus, I too must have aged. At one point I said “An old man like me” hoping to be contradicted. But nobody did, and I saw no glimmer of protest or even surprise.
— Marcel Proust (@ProustTweet) April 21, 2020