Swann would repair to it as to a
conception of love and happiness, of which at once he knew as well in what
respects it was peculiar as he would know of the _Princesse de Cleves_, or
of _Rene_, should either of those titles occur to him. Even when he was
not thinking of the little phrase, it existed, latent, in his mind, in the
same way as certain other conceptions without material equivalent, such as
our notions of light, of sound, of perspective, of bodily desire, the rich
possessions wherewith our inner temple is diversified and adorned. Perhaps
we shall lose them, perhaps they will be obliterated, if we return to
nothing in the dust. But so long as we are alive, we can no more bring
ourselves to a state in which we shall not have known them than we can
with regard to any material object, than we can, for example, doubt the
luminosity of a lamp that has just been lighted, in view of the changed
aspect of everything in the room, from which has vanished even the memory
of the darkness. In that way Vinteuil's phrase, like some theme, say, in
_Tristan_, which represents to us also a certain acquisition of sentiment,
has espoused our mortal state, had endued a vesture of humanity that was
affecting enough.
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