"Youth as glimpsed by its elders is a story that comes from afar, showing itself as either lovely to look at or a torment to endure."

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Let but a single flash of reality -- the glimpse of a woman from afar or from behind -- enable us to project the image of Beauty before our eyes, and we imagine that we have recognised it, our hearts beat, and we will always remain half-persuaded that it was She, provided that the woman has vanished: it is only if we manage to overtake her that we realise our mistake.

— Marcel Proust