My Years With Proust - Day 690

   Fragments of existence withdrawn from Time: these then were perhaps what the being three times, four times brought back to life within me had just now tasted, but the contemplation, though it was of eternity, had been fugitive.  And yet I was vaguely aware that the pleasure which this contemplation had, at rare intervals, given me in my life, was the only genuine and fruitful pleasure that I had known.

Marcel Proust, Time Regained, p. 908

"Fragments of existence withdrawn from Time." Why does this sound like it should be a title of one of Yukio Mishima's The Sea of Fertility tetralogy novels?  Or maybe an H.P. Lovecraft short story?  Maybe the most important point in this aside is this: "And yet I was vaguely aware that the pleasure which this contemplation had, at rare intervals, given me in my life, was the only genuine and fruitful pleasure that I had known."  It's an old chestnut to suggest that it's the journey and not the destination, but maybe it's never more true than in this instance.  Discovering the ultimate truth in this instance (and all instances) is probably impossible, but the quest is not only all that matters, but it's where the joy resides.