And just as the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with
water and steeping in it little crumbs of paper which until then are without
character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch themselves
and bend, take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or
people, permanent and recognisable, so in that moment all the flowers in our
garden and in M. Swann’s park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the
good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and
the whole of Combray and of its surroundings, taking their proper shapes
and growing solid, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, all from my
cup of tea.
Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past
Happy birthday, Marcel (10 Juillet)
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Author: The Best American Poetry
