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When from a long distant past nothing persists, after the people are dead, after things
are broken and scattered, still alone, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and
taste of things remain poised a long, long time like souls, ready to remind us, waiting,
hoping for their moment amid the ruins of all the rest, and bear unfaltering in the
tiny, almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.
~Marcel Proust
Remembrance of Things Past