The Captive and The Fugitive

We are wrong in speaking of a bad choice in love, since as soon as there is a choice it can only be bad

The blonde one darts a furtive glance at me. I conclude from what the concierge tells me that she is Mlle d’Éporcheville, whose favors Robert enjoyed in a brothel

geometry in space, so there is a psychology in time. My love is not so much a love for Albertine as a love in me. It is a tragedy of other people that they are to us merely showcases for the very perishable collections of our own mind