Marcel
wrestling with Gilberte… good gracious,
The
honesty of Proust! The will to shame
Dissemblers! A mind like that, so spacious,
So
forgiving of things we dare not name,
So tolerant
of sin, so just, so fair,
As
if for years he suffered every pain
So
later he might understand and care
About
the pain of others. He was sane
While
friends and family thought him raving mad.
He
was watching, waiting, learning, weeping
For
the ugly, the beautiful, the bad
And
the good. At night while she was
sleeping,
He
was writing. It takes courage to hold
fire,
To
hide your truer self behind a liar.
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