Swanns Way

Marcel Proust

ISBN 10: 0394309677 / ISBN 13: 9780394309675

Edité par Random House/Modern Library, 1928

A propos de cet article

Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages.

N° de réf. du vendeur GRP101966541

Détails bibliographiques

• Titre: Swanns Way
• Éditeur: Random House/Modern Library
• Date de parution: 1928
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN à 10 chiffres: 0394309677
• ISBN à 13 chiffres: 9780394309675
• Reliure: Couverture souple
• État de l'article: Good

A propos de ce titre

Synopsis

For a long time I used to go to bed early. Sometimes, when I had put out my candle, my eyes would close so quickly that I had not even time to say "I'm going to sleep." And half an hour later the thought that it was time to go to sleep would awaken me; I would try to put away the book which, I imagined, was still in my hands, and to blow out the light; I had been thinking all the time, while I was asleep, of what I had just been reading, but my thoughts had run into a channel of their own, until I myself seemed actually to have become the subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V. This impression would persist for some moments after I was awake; it did not disturb my mind, but it lay like scales upon my eyes and prevented them from registering the fact that the candle was no longer burning.

Présentation de l'éditeur

Best translation of Marcel Proust's Du côté de chez Swann

Many years have passed since then. The wall along the staircase on which I saw the approaching light of his candle no longer exists, has not for a long time. In me also, many things have been destroyed, things I believed would last forever, and new things have been erected, giving rise to new pains and new joys I would never have been able to foresee back then,—just as how these old pains and joys have since become difficult to understand. And it has been a long time since my father has been able to say to Momma: "Go with the little one." The possibility of hours like those will never be reborn for me. But as of recent, I have again begun to perceive, very well, if I lend my ear, the sobs I found the strength to contain before my father and which broke out when I found myself alone with Momma again. In reality these sobs never ceased; it is only because my life is getting quieter that I hear them anew, like these bells in convents that the noise of the daytime drowns out so effectively that you think they are no longer rung but that sound out once again in the silence of the night.