Everything That Seems To Us Imperishable Tends Towards Decay

I've said before that I'm "in the home stretch," or that I've got "less to come than there is behind." I can say firmly, today, that I truly am in the home stretch. As of this moment, I have 381 pages remaining to read. When considering the total length of this work, 381 pages seems rather like a footnote or an epilogue. Such a short bit left to approach, and yet, as Proust would have it, there does not seem to be a plot related snowball rolling down the hill. With such, proportionally, few pages to go, in contemporary works, there would be a veritable stampede of plot elements rushing downhill towards the end of the novel. But here, Proust again shows his characteristic reserve and control.

It is early for reflections back upon the project and upon the work. I'm going to keep today's post brief (despite the shrinking number of posts as I have neared the end of this; largely, this is due to my desire to avoid repetition and "posts for posting's sake") in favor of posting not only on my last day of reading, but likely some days after finishing and digesting the book. I will, however, share a quote with you that seems extremely relevant to what I've been doing:

"'Never mind...that can wait for another year, if I don't die in the meanwhile,' seeing no other possible obstacle but my own death..." (Proust, 726)

Reading these books was on my list of "things I must do before I die." The list has, thankfully, grown much shorter in the past two years. I decided about two years ago to begin approaching these items, in case I should read the finish line before I anticipated. Not to be morbid; rather, I feel that the sooner I accomplish these goals, the sooner I'll make more. And truthfully, I have lived more in carrying out these dreams than I did thinking about doing them.

After finishing these books, I'm going to buy a motorcycle. Then, it's time for a new list.