That's What Sister Proust Said When (S)He Was Plucking on That Dipthong

Today Clare and I are on page 114 of volume two of Remembrance of Things Past * (In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, the novel formerly known as Within a Budding Grove). We are doing a mighty, mighty good job of keeping to the four pages a day pace. We do miss on occasion, but we have also assiduously made up for missed days, so that we are actually fourteen pages ahead of our schedule at the moment, and on track to finish volume two on May 10th of this year. At any rate, here's a line which we read today which I thought was worthy of preserving for all eternity in one of the internet's many tube stations:

" . . . the great works of art are . . . less of a disappointment than life, in that their best parts do not come first."

Marcel--you scamp. You are the Velvet Underground of literature, foe show.

* See previous blog entry for several ridiculous comments on this topic.