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Vox 3: Marcel Proust, in Contre Sainte Beuve

As soon as I read an author, I quickly make out beneath the words a tune that in each author is different from that of others, and without realizing it I begin to “sing along,” speeding or slowing or interrupting the notes as I read, marking their measures and returns as one does when singing and waiting a certain time, depending on the song’s pace, before finally uttering the end of a word…. And I think that the boy in me who amused himself this way must be the same one who has a sensitive and accurate ear for hearing the subtle harmony that others don’t hear between two impressions or ideas.