É só um parágrafo dos sete volumes de Em Busca do Tempo Perdido, mas fala da bondade estéril e cruel das pessoas que nunca erraram. Diz assim:
I know that there are young people, the sons and grandsons of distinguished men, whose masters have instilled into them nobility of mind and moral refinement from their schooldays. They may perhaps have nothing to retract from their past lives; they could publish a signd account of everything they have ever said or done; but they are poor creatures, feeble descendants of doctrinaires, and their wisdom is negative and sterile. We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world.
(Em baixo: retrato do artista enquanto jovem, Marcel Proust em 1887)
