“my aunt Flora broke in, to show Swann that she had read the note about his Corot in the Figaro.
"Yes," aunt Céline went one better. "When they write about things or people in whom we are interested."
"I don't deny it," answered Swann in some bewilderment. "The fault I find with our journalism is that it forces us to take an interest in some fresh triviality or other every day, whereas only three or four books in a lifetime give us anything that is of real importance.
Suppose that, every morning, when we tore the wrapper off our paper with fevered hands, a transmutation were to take place, and we were to find inside it—oh! I don't know; shall we say Pascal's Pensées?"”