Control midterm theme PDF

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17/04

Theme Midterm Exam Will it rinch the surface of my clear conscioussness, this memory, the ancient moment that the attraction of the identical moment came to solicit from so far, to move, to lift out of the depths of my being? I do not know. Now I do not feel anything anymore. It might has perhaps gone down again, who knows if it will ever come back from its darkness? Ten times over I must try, leaning down over it. Each time the cowardice that strays you from any difficult task, from any important matter/work, has adviced me to leave it alone, to drink my tea, and nearly think about my problems of today, my desires of tomorrow which are left to be poundered over effortlessly again and again. Suddenly, the memory resurfaced. That taste, was the one of the piece of madeleine which on sunday mornings in Combray – because those morning I would not go out before mass – When I went to her bedroom to say “Hello”, my aunt Léonie used to gave me after dunking it into her infusion of tea and lime flower. The sight of that little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind, before I tasted it; maybe because I had often seen such things since then without tasting them, on the pastery trails in the pastery shops, their images had left those Combray days to bind itself to other more recent memories, perhaps nothing survived, everything had been chatered into pieces from those memories had been left for so long out of my mind. The shapes – also the one of the small pastry shell, so richely sensual under its severe and religious folds – had disapeared and had been dormant power, that will have allowed them to rich my consiousness. But when from an ancient past, after the people are dead, things are broken, only, the most fragile yet lightlyest, the most immaterial, the most persistante, the most faithfull, the smell and the taste still remains for a long time, like spirits/souls, to recall, to wait and to hope on the ruins of everything else, to lift without bending/baring without fléchir, on their droplets, almost impalpable, the huge structure of memories....