"If I had spent two or three hours in conversation with Saint-Loup and he had expressed his admiration of what I had said to him, I felt a sort of remorse, or regret, or weariness at not having remained alone and settled down to work at last. But I told myself that one is not intelligent for oneself alone, that the greatest of men have wanted to be appreciated, that I could not regard as wasted hours in which I had built up a lofty idea of myself in the mind of my friend; I had no difficulty in persuading myself that I ought to be happy in consequence, and I hoped all the more keenly that this happiness might never be taken from me because I had not actually felt it. We fear more than the loss of anything else the disappearance of possessions that have remained outside ourselves, because our hearts have not taken possession of them. I felt that I was capable of exemplifying the virtues of friendship better than most people (because I should always place the good of my friends before those personal interests to which other people are devoted but which did not count for me), but not of finding happiness in a feeling which, instead of increasing the differences that there were between my nature and those of other people - as there are between all of us - would eliminate them. On the other hand there were moments when my mind distinguished in Saint-Loup a personality more generalized than his own, that of the 'nobleman,' which like an indwelling spirit moved his limbs, ordered his gestures and his actions; then, at such moments, although in his company, I was alone, as I should have been in front of a landscape the harmony of which I could understand. He was no more then than an object the properties of which, in my musings, I sought to explore. The discovery in him of this pre-existent, this immemorial being, this aristocrat who was precisely what Robert aspired not to be, gave me intense joy, but a joy of the mind rather than the feelings."
Marcel Proust, Within a Budding Grove, p. 791
"But I told myself that one is not intelligent for oneself alone, that the greatest of men have wanted to be appreciated . . ." The central theme of this entire section seems to be Proust's ability to separate himself off from actual human contact, which proves invaluable for dissecting other people but awfully limiting in regard to living a happy life. Here other people seem to have a purpose, but mainly as sounding boards for the "greatest of men."
"We fear more than the loss of anything else the disappearance of possessions that have remained outside ourselves, because our hearts have not taken possession of them." This passage reminds me of my friend Dave Kelley. He and I used to get depressed every time we left New Orleans, until he finally decided that there was no reason to be sad because it was inconceivable that we wouldn't be coming back there. Essentially, it would be sad if we were never coming back, but of course we'd be back so it was just time to start planning the next trip. This made me feel better. Now, running this experience through this specific Proustian lens, the point might be made that in this case we had reached a point where we didn't worry about losing something, in this case a city, because we had already possession of it in our hearts.
"He was no more then than an object the properties of which, in my musings, I sought to explore. The discovery in him of this pre-existent, this immemorial being, this aristocrat who was precisely what Robert aspired not to be, gave me intense joy, but a joy of the mind rather than the feelings." It seems to me that Proust's greatest gifts are his powers of observation and analysis, but I think I might argue that his greatest weaknesses are his powers of observation and analysis. For a person of intense emotions Proust can also be coldly detached in his analysis of others. Here Saint-Loup is fascinating much less as a friend than as a category or a social construct.
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