I felt so keenly for Mme de Guermantes that I could scarcely breathe; it was as though part of my breast had been cut out by a skilled anatomist and replaced by an equal part of immaterial suffering, by its equivalent in nostalgia and love. (...)
Alas, if for me meeting any person other than herself would have been a matter of indifference, I felt that, for her, meeting anyone in the world other than myself would have only been too endurable.
In Search Of Lost Time: Vol III, The Guermantes Way. Marcel Proust. (1981, Scott Moncrieff & Kilmartin translation.)
E@L
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